#so they are just sitting there trying to convince each other

[mr-cha-n]

Glass Towers

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, architect AU

Warnings: Profanities, drinking, angst, sexual content, penetration, mouth stuff (f. receiving), tension, yearning

Word Count: 18.2k

Summary: City lights are beautiful, but they're nothing compared to the spark between a hopelessly optimistic architect and his no-nonsense boss. He hopes.

Mingyu's always had a thing for the city skyline. He stands there, staring up like a tourist in his own city, while the lights blink back at him. He's convinced that the twinkling stars work overtime in the winter to brighten up the world for busy employees, wonderstruck sightseers, and homebound natives alike. 

And the people? Oh, don't get him started. City folk are like ants with a caffeine addiction, scurrying down streets wide enough to do doughnuts on (he's tempted), all on their own secret missions. Got places to be, people to bump into, lives to live. And every now and then, there's a stray tourist wandering around like they're decoding a map from a century-old pirate treasure hunt, or a food vendor desperately offering free samples and a good, if unique, conversation.

But, most of all, he's got a soft spot for buildings. Those skyscrapers that loom over everyone like friendly giants are his favourite. They're tall, dramatic, stoic - but also weirdly welcoming, like they're saying "Come on in, friend, there's an elevator with your name on it." Each one holds a mini-universe of people with no clue that they're all part of this giant city love affair. And honestly? That's what Mingyu loves most.

That is why he is practically vibrating with excitement as he makes his way to the towering glass-and-steel behemoth that houses his new firm. This building is the pinnacle of urban architecture. It has a shiny, almost reflective facade that makes every other building on the block look like they'd shown up to the party in sweatpants. Windows stretch floor to floor like a series of portals to success.

He's read about this building, of course. Brought it up in the interview for the position. Its architect was apparently a big deal who had once described it as "a dialogue between the earth and the sky." Which, as far as Mingyu is concerned, is just fancy architect-speak for, "Look at how absurdly tall I can make things."

Stepping inside, he is immediately hit with that professional smell - a mix of leather-bound sofas, artisanal coffee, and freshly printed documents. The lobby is decorated with minimalist sculptures that seem like they could either be priceless modern art or just very confusing coat ranks. Either way, Mingyu thinks they look amazing and decides that he'd probably best never trying to lean on one.

He stops at the reception desk, where a sharply dressed woman with an impressively unflappable expression sits.

"Good morning!" He says, a little too enthusiastically. "I'm Kim Mingyu. I'm starting as the new project architect, so you'll probably see a lot of confused-looking, lost-guy moments from me."

She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile quirking on the edge of her lips. "Good luck, Mr Kim. This building does tend to eat people up on their first day."

Mingyu lets out a small chuckle, unsure if she's joking or not, but he takes the smile on her face to signify that she is. After getting directions to his new office space, he makes a point of talking to every staff member he sees on the way, hoping to gain a little bit of familiarity with the new space. There's the security guard by the elevator, who gives him a quick nod of approval, the intern rushing by with a stack of blueprints precariously balanced like they are training for Cirque du Soleil, and the coffee cart guy, who looked positively thrilled to tell Mingyu that they're starting a 'Mocha Monday' deal, envisioning half-price mochas flying off the shelf to cure those start-of-week blues.

The elevator itself is sleek, fast, and almost comically over-engineered. Encased in glass and stainless steel, it features a control panel with buttons for every floor and amenities like a mini espresso machine, a retractable tablet and an adjustable lighting system for 'mood optimisation'. He barely has time to catch his breath before the elevator doors ding open, depositing him on the top floor. 

Waiting for him is Mr Choi, the firm's head partner, a man so put-together than even his cufflinks look like they could close a business deal. Mingyu recognises him instantly - the same piercing gaze from his interview, though today softened by the faintest hint of a smile. Or, well, something that might one day consider becoming a smile.

"Good to see you again, Mingyu," Mr Choi greets, his voice as smooth as marble. He gestures down the hallway, as if guiding him into an architectural wonderland (which, for all intents and purposes, he is). "Shall we?"

They pass through a maze of glass-walled offices and open spaces dotted with architects, designers, and enough blueprint paper to wrap the world's largest birthday present. As they reach Mr Choi's office, Mingyu makes sure to hold the door open for his new boss.

The space is less of an office and more of an architectural shrine, humming with the wisdom of ten thousand blueprints. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, as if the whole skyline had been personally curated just to keep Mr Choi inspired. His desk - a sleek slab of dark walnut with edges so sharp they could probably slice bread - sits precisely in the centre of the room. On the walls sit framed sketches of the firm's most iconic projects, each one hung and lit like a small art gallery. The coffee table at the centre piles high with glossy architecture magazines and books with titles like The Future of Concrete and The Language of Buildings. It is as if every element in the room had been strategically selected to convey that Mr Choi is not just any architect. 

And, most stunning of all, is you. Tall, poised, and commanding a presence that immediately silences whatever joke Mingyu has mentally queued up to break the ice. You're seated across from Mr Choi's desk, reading through a thick stack of documents with the intensity of someone evaluating world-changing data - or possibly planning the most efficient way to dismantle a skyscraper with your mind. You don't look up when he enters.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," Mr Choi says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "this is Kim Mingyu, our newest project architect. He'll be working under you, as we discussed."

Finally, you look up. There's a flash of something unreadable in your eyes as you meet his, and Mingyu's heart skips a beat. You're beautiful, of course, but not in the approachable way he'd normally charm his way though. There's a quiet sharpness to you, like the edge of a blade hidden under silk. You nod, polite but detached, and extend a hand across the desk. Mingyu's hand is halfway to yours before he realises he's probably grinning too wide.

"Mr Kim," You say, your tone flat and calm. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, Ms (Y/l/n)," he replies, fighting the urge to launch into an unnecessarily enthusiastic monologue about how honoured he is to work with someone as formidable as you. Instead, he forces himself to stick with, "It's a pleasure to be here."

Your handshake is brief, controlled, and you retract your hand almost before he's registered the contact. Then you sit back, folding your arms with a measured kind of grace that makes Mingyu feel like he's just been granted an audience with a queen.

"We'll be starting you off on the Langham project," you say, consulting your papers as if double-checking this fact - or maybe just avoiding his eyes. "I'll be overseeing your work and guiding you through our procedures here. We have high standards, and I'll expect you to meet them."

"Of course!" He nods vigorously, attempting his best I-won't-let-you-down smile. "I'm up for any challenge, Ms (Y/l/n). High standards are, uh, my middle name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking slightly perplexed, as though wondering if he might be serious. Mr Choi clears his throat, breaking the silence with a faint smirk that betrays a hint of secondhand amusement.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," he continues, "has been with us for nearly a decade. She's an invaluable asset to the firm. I trust you'll learn a great deal from her."

Mingyu nods earnestly, glancing at you, but you're already back to scanning the documents as if he's drifted into background noise. He's mildly disappointed, though he can't exactly blame you - after all, he is juts the latest recruit with probably a hundred questions, and you seem like the type who doesn't have time for aimless chatter.

"Any questions before we begin?" you ask, in a tone that suggests the answer you're really hoping for is 'no.'

But of course, Mingyu has questions. Too many, probably. He opens his mouth to ask one, but then catches the faintest glint of what he thinks might be impatience in your eyes and quickly changes gears.

"Actually, no," he says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good to go!"

You don’t seem particularly impressed by this, but there’s a flicker of something — amusement, maybe? — before you turn back to Mr. Choi. "Shall I take him to the Langham briefing room, then?"

Mr Choi waves you off with a nod, and you rise with a brisk elegance that makes Mingyu almost trip over himself in an effort to follow. You walk him through the halls with a calm, businesslike air, giving succinct, precise explanations as you go. Every step you take feels purposeful, every word perfectly chosen. Mingyu feels like an eager puppy trotting beside you, but he's determined to keep up.

As you reach the briefing room, he can't resist trying to break the ice one more time. "You know," he starts, grinning. "I really love the city skyline. It's kind of why I got into architecture."

You pause, giving him a look that manages to be both blank and withering at once. "Is that so?"Yeah!" He barrels on, encouraged by the fact that you responded at all. "It's like ... it's all a big love letter to everyone living here, you know? Every building, every floor, every light in the window - it's all just there, lighting up people's lives."

There's a moment of silence. Mingyu wonders if maybe he overdid it.

Finally, you nod, albeit with an expression he can't quite place. "That's an ... optimistic way of looking at it, Mr Kim."

Optimistic? Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he'll take it. He smiles, trying to hide his excitement at the fact that you actually acknowledged his point. "I guess that’s me — hopelessly optimistic."

You glance at him with what he might, just might, dare to interpret as the tiniest hint of a smirk. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by your usual professional demeanour.

"Well," you say crisply, gesturing to the plans spread out on the table. "Let’s see if that optimism translates to effective project execution."

By the time Mingyu finally steps out of the firm's towering glass sanctuary, the city has dipped into that golden hour where the skyline looks like it's been dipped in honey. The streets are packed with people still racing to meetings, or dinners, or late-night escapades, but Mingyu feels like he's in his own little bubble, still buzzing from the whirlwind of his first day.

He's not sure what's more overwhelming - the Langham project itself, which already feels like it's going to stretch every ounce of his architectural prowess and patience, or you. The way you carried yourself like you were born in this building, with all its sharp edges and polished surfaces. He isn't sure how to keep up with that level of composure.

But there was something there, wasn't there? A flicker of something. Maybe you were just humouring him, but there was that slight tilt of your lips when he said something slightly amusing. Or the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary when he spoke. Of course, he could just be imagining it. But Mingyu isn't about to let go of that feeling just yet.

The subway ride home does little to calm his excitement. He thinks about the massive pile of documents he's expected to digest tonight for the briefing tomorrow. As the train rumbles beneath the city, Mingyu cracks open his bag and pulls out the folder that was handed to him this morning - a mess of blueprints, floor plans and complicated notes that look like they were designed to break a person's will to live. 

But he's not scared, not by this at least. The only thing that kind of scares him is the realisation that you are going to be watching him closely. Judging. Monitoring. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he’s ready for that sort of proximity.

The train screeches to a halt, and Mingyu exits at his stop, shaking off those thoughts. Tonight, he’ll just have to forget about all that for now and focus on getting some food in his stomach. Besides, he’s almost home.

Mingyu’s apartment building isn’t anything to write home about. It’s not a shiny, glass-covered marvel like the office, but it’s cozy and warm, with enough character to make him feel like he has a place to call his own. His apartment is on the fourth floor, up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. As he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door, the familiar smell of instant ramen and coffee hits him. His flatmate, Wonwoo, is already home.

Wonwoo’s there in the living room, sprawled across the couch with his laptop on his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee next to him. He’s the polar opposite of Mingyu in almost every way: quiet, reserved, and extremely not into architecture, but somehow they’ve been rooming together for the past few years without any major conflicts. Mingyu’s loud, chaotic energy and tendency to overshare perfectly balances Wonwoo’s brooding, half-mysterious vibe. It’s a friendship forged in caffeine and mutual understanding that sometimes, you need someone who won’t judge when you blast pop music at 2 AM, or when you eat cereal for dinner because you forgot to go grocery shopping.

"How’s the first day?" Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his screen, his voice cool and unbothered. But Mingyu can tell he’s asking out of a form of polite curiosity, like a scientist observing a very energetic specimen.

Mingyu drops his bag on the counter and flops onto the couch next to him. "It was ... intense," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "The project I'm gonna be working on is a beast. There's this whole ocean of details to sift through. And then there's Ms (Y/l/n)."

Wonwoo looks up, his brow slightly raised. "Your boss?"

"Yeah," Mingyu says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "She's something else. Like she doesn't seem interested in me at all, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. But she's got this, like, presence. Makes you want to impress her, y'know? Even when she's totally stone-faced - especially when, actually."

Wonwoo hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, you're in love with your boss already. Good to know."

Mingyu shoots him a mock glare, his cheeks ringing with a hint of pink. "I'm not in love with her, okay? It's more like ... fascination. She's just really intimidating."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, the picture of dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what's her deal, anyway? Too professional for your flirty smile?"

"She doesn't seem flattered by it." Mingyu dramatically drops his head into his hands, mimicking a tragic melodrama. "I might have to rethink my whole life strategy if I can’t get her to crack a smile at my jokes."

"But hey," Wonwoo adds with a smirk, "if you want to survive your first week, I suggest you do not mention the city skyline and your theories about how it’s a love letter to people. That’s a hard pass."

Mingyu groans, covering his face in embarrassment. "I’m never telling you anything ever again."

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "You love me and you know it."

Mingyu snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ve got work to do." He picks up the pile of documents, pulling them closer with a resigned sigh. "Gotta impress Ms (Y/l/n) somehow."

Gulping down a quick 'dinner' of left-over stir fry and a couple of eggs for good measure, Mingyu picks back up the Langham project folder, its content still a chaotic swirl of technical specs and words he can't read, and flips open the first few pages. The project itself is a massive undertaking - a luxury hotel and mixed-use complex nestled in the heart of the city, right by the river. The building is going to stretch twenty stories high, with glass facades that'll reflect the river's light like a prism. The design includes state-of-the-art amenities, with the goal of being the ultimate urban getaway - a haven for tourists, business moguls, and the occasional local who just wants to treat themselves to a little luxury.

Mingyu's eyes light up as he scans the proposed design. There's a grand atrium in the centre, stretching all the way up to the top floor, with cascading gardens and open-air terraces. "So fancy," he mutters to himself. His team is clearly trying to push boundaries here, blending modern steel and glass with organic elements - like a giant metallic tree-house hybrid for the city's elite.

He flips to a page filled with notes about sustainability and energy efficiency. They’re aiming for a platinum LEED certification — top-tier green building status. It’s all about using smart, eco-friendly tech to make the building as self-sustaining as possible. Mingyu groans inwardly, wondering if he’s about to become an expert on solar panels and rainwater harvesting.

As he continues reading, one particular detail catches his eye. The signature design element for the building is a series of “floating” glass bridges between the upper floors — a bold architectural statement meant to make the building appear less like a typical office block and more like something out of a futuristic movie. It sounds incredible, but Mingyu can already picture himself pulling his hair out over the engineering calculations required to make sure the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down in a windstorm.

By the time he reaches the end of the folder, his mind is spinning, and a mild panic starts to creep in. Your expectations are clear, and the project’s scope is enormous. But Mingyu can’t help the tiny spark of excitement that flickers in his chest. This is what he’s been working toward — to be a part of something that will change the city’s landscape, something that will make people stop and look up.

He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It's late, but he knows he'll need all the preparation he can get for tomorrow.

With one last long look at the papers, Mingyu closes the folder, shoving it aside with a resigned sigh. "I’m going to need a lot more coffee," he mutters, flopping back on the couch beside Wonwoo, who’s already half asleep with his laptop still glowing faintly in his lap.

Wonwoo snorts without opening his eyes. "You’re going to need more than coffee for this, buddy."

"Tell me about it," Mingyu grins, grabbing his phone to order another coffee, just in case he didn’t have enough already. Tonight, it looks like he’s going to be living on caffeine and architectural dreams.

A few weeks into the job, Mingyu has already made a significant number of mistakes. Well, significant is probably an understatement. More like a collection of blunders so impressive that, if anyone were to catalogue them, they might think Mingyu was trying to break some sort of world record in architectural mishaps.

It starts innocently enough, with a small miscalculation on the elevator shaft dimensions that nearly caused a minor freakout in the engineering department. Then there was that time he mixed up the load-bearing capacity for the glass facades and accidentally sent an email to the whole team saying, "We could use stronger glass" when technically, the existing plans were fine. And, of course, who could forget that time he got overzealous and rearranged the project's timeline, shaving an entire month off the construction schedule, only to realise later that it was a little bit too ambitious for anyone's taste?

He still hasn't lived down the elevator incident, which, for the record, wasn't even entirely his fault. But it's hard to explain that when your eyes are drilling into him from across the room, a careful blend of disappointment and 'I'm trying not to send you into an existential crisis right now.'

Today, he's perched at his desk watching the clock tick down the minutes until the inevitable meeting with you. His fingers drum nervously on the edge of his notepad. There's a fresh stack of papers in front of him, each one brimming with red-inked corrections, and he knows what's coming. He's almost perfected the art of nodding in silent shame during your critiques, hoping the earth might swallow him whole.

When the meeting finally comes, you walk into the room, as poised and unbothered as ever. He tries to stand up to greet you, but he stumbles into his chair instead, catching himself just in time.

"You've been busy," you say dryly, as you flip through the stack of appears, your eyes scanning the marked-up blueprints. Your tone is sharp, like an exam proctor giving him one last chance to pass without the lecture.

Mingyu forces a grin, wiping his palms against his pants. "Yep, learning a lot on the fly, you know?"

You don't smile. "You've certainly given us a lot to work with."

Mingyu winces, cracking for the inevitable storm of corrections. He can already feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him. He's been trying so hard to make a good impression, but it seems every time he tries, he only ends up making things more complicated.

But then, as if you've suddenly decided that maybe he hasn’t completely bungled everything, you pause, tapping your pen against the papers in front of you. “But there’s one thing...”

His heart stutters. "What's that?"

You flip to the last page in the folder, revealing a neatly detailed diagram of the building's eco-friendly water filtration system, a proposal Mingyu put together at the last minute after a rather inspiring lunch break (where he might have gotten just a little carried away talking to the environmental consultant). You tap the diagram. "This," you say, your voice softer than he's ever heard it, "This is well done. You identified a potential issue with the system that we hadn't accounted for in the original design. We'll need to revise a few things to integrate it fully, but this is exactly the kind of thinking we need."

Mingyu stares at you, completely caught off guard. His brain is still half-parked in panic mode from the earlier mistakes. and he can't quite process your words. Did you just ... praise him?

"Really?" He blinks, his surprise making his voice higher than usual. "You mean the, uh, water thing? I just thought it might be better if we-"

"I know," you interrupt, your gaze steady on him. "You found a solution we missed. We'll be able to integrate it without a massive redesign. Good work."

Mingyu blinks again, this time in pure disbelief. It's like someone just handed him a bag of cash and told him to keep it. "I - uh, wow. Thanks." He tries to act cool, but he's pretty sure he looks like a kid who's just been handed an extra cookie.

You don't break your composed demeanour, but there's a subtle shift in your expression - a quiet respect that wasn't there before. "You're capable, Mr Kim," you say, your voice calm but with a hint of approval. "Despite your tendency to make things a little more complicated than necessary, you're on the right track."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Mingyu feels an odd rush of pride — a mix of relief and the kind of warmth you get when you find out you didn’t totally mess everything up. For once, he’s not the guy who ruins everything in your eyes.

And, maybe, just maybe, he can keep that “capable” label for a while.

“I’ll expect the revised plans on my desk by Friday,” you say, your voice steady. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t!” Mingyu promises, his voice more confident than it’s been in weeks. “I’m on it.”

Mingyu throws himself into revising the plans with a fervour that borders on obsession. He’s got spreadsheets, CAD files, hand-drawn sketches, and a brand new stack of sticky notes covering his desk like a rainbow-coloured fortress of architectural ambition. The water filtration system has turned into his personal magnum opus, and he’s determined to make sure it’s nothing short of revolutionary.

He's started to stay later than usual, his desk lamp becoming a beacon in the dimmed office. At first, he doesn't pay much attention to who else is around, his mind so wrapped up in calculations and potential pitfalls that he barely notices his own hunger or fatigue. But after a few nights, he realises he's not the only one burning the midnight oil.

Your office light is always on. Sometimes he'll glance up, bleary-eyed and half delirious from staring at documents, and he'll catch a glimpse of you through the glass walls - hair pulled back, eyes locked on your laptop screen, fingers tapping briskly on the keys as if your thoughts are sprinting ahead of your hands. You're a constant fixture, as much a part of the office's architecture as the polished marble floors and unbreakable glass doors. And, he realises, you're usually there even later than he is.

One evening, after finally signing off on what feels like the hundredth draft of the plans, Mingyu yawns and stretches, feeling every vertebra pop like bubble wrap. He glances at the clock. It's nearly midnight. As he stands to grab his coat, he sees your office light flick off, and you appear, looking just as composed as you did this morning, as if working fifteen hours straight is just part of your weekly routine.

You both walk to the elevator in silence, the quiet stretch of the office settling around you like an unspoken truce. When the elevator doors close, you glance at him, breaking the silence with a casual, "You're still here, Mr Kim."

He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, still making sure I don't mess up the Langham project. You know how it is."

You don't smile, but your expression softens. "I do."

The elevator ride is quiet, filled with the low hum of machinery and the faintest scent of Mingyu's cologne - a last-ditch attempt this morning to feel professional. When you step out onto the ground floor, you hesitate by the door, glancing out at the street. The city is dark and quiet, the only lights the occasional passing car and the soft glow of streetlamps.

"Do you have a way home?" You ask, your voice so casual it takes him a second to realise you're actually offering him a ride.

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, well, I was going to take the subway. But if you're offering..." He trails off, grinning sheepishly.

You nod, motioning to the car parked just outside. It's as sleek and polished as you are - a dark sedan that looks like it would have absolutely no patience for speed bumps. He slides into the passenger seat, trying not to fumble with his seatbelt, and you start the engine, pulling into the quiet streets with a calm, practised ease.

For a while, you drive in silence. Mingyu glances out the window, his thoughts tangled between the day's work and the surreal feeling of sitting in the same car as you.

"You're ... very driven," you break the quiet, your tone almost contemplative. "I don't often see people put in that kind of effort, especially so early on."

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Guess I just don’t want to let you down. Or, you know, be known as the guy who destroyed the Langham project.”

You finally smile, a small, genuine expression that feels like a rare peek beyond the wall, and leaves Mingyu feeling a little breathless. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Mingyu hesitates, taken aback by the question. He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always loved buildings. Ever since I was a kid, I’d spend hours sketching skyscrapers in my notebooks. It’s kind of a dream come true, being here. Getting to work on something this big.”

You listen, your eyes fixed on the road but your expression soft, focusing now somewhere beyond just his words.

"This job can consume you, if you let it," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "It's a rare thing to see someone bring genuine excitement to it. Most people, they burn out or let it harden them." You glance at him, and for a brief moment, he sees a flicker of something almost vulnerable in your gaze. "It's good that you still ... care."

Your words hang in the air, and Mingyu feels a strange ache in his chest - a sudden realisation that beneath the cool professionalism, you had been through this same path yourself, fighting to keep that spark alive in an industry that seems determined to grind it out of you.

"Thanks," he says softly, the playful tone absent for once. "I mean it. And ... I think I get what you mean." He hesitates, then adds, "But I don't think I'll stop caring anytime soon."

You nod, a faint smile ghosting your lips. You drive on through the city, the lights casting soft, shifting patterns on the glass.

When you finally reach his building, he unbuckles his seatbelt, giving you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride. And, you know… for everything else.”

You nod, your expression back to usual, but there's a warmth in your eyes now. "Goodnight, Mr Kim."

"Goodnight," he says, stepping out and closing the door gently. He watches as you drive away, the taillights disappearing down the street, and feels a strange mixture of inspiration and relief, and a hunger to get back in the car and learn anything else he can about you.

It's a week before his presentation, and Mingyu is thrilled about his latest proposal for the Lagham project - a sleek, eco-friendly rooftop space designed to collect rainwater, enhance natural cooling, and serve as a green oasis in the middle of the city for all visitors to access. It's his baby, his architectural pièce de résistance. He’s already named the design “Green Above” in his head, but, apparently, the client is less than convinced.

The hesitation comes during a routine check-in meeting, when Mr. Choi casually drops the news that the client has “concerns.” The term is as vague as it is ominous, and Mingyu’s heart sinks. Apparently, they’re worried it’s too “experimental,” too “risky” for the firm’s conservative image. Mingyu tries to hide his disappointment, nodding as Mr. Choi politely recommends that he “polish up his pitch” before the big day.

By “polish,” of course, he means pull a miracle out of thin air.

Enter: you.

Later that afternoon, you call him into your office, the door clicking shut behind him as you gesture for him to sit. He braces himself, ready for another dissection of his work, but instead, you surprise him by pulling out his sketches and nodding. "The client might be wary," you say, your tone clinical and level, "but there's a strong case for this. You just need to learn how to show them the vision." You pause, looking at him. "I'll help you with that."

Mingyu blinks. "You'll help me present?"

"Yes, Mr Kim," you say. "We'll work on this every evening until you're confident enough to convince a room full of sceptics. You'll have to be better than good. Exceptional."

And so, every evening for the next week, Mingyu stays late in the conference room, rehearsing his proposal with you. The first night, he stumbles through the trial run, mumbling about sustainable design, only to have you stop him after two minutes, unimpressed.

"Start over," you say, tapping your pen against the table. "And this time, stop burying the lead. Walk in there and make me believe it's the best thing I've ever heard."

You're relentless but patient, correcting him when he gets too caught up in technical jargon, showing him how to highlight the benefits rather than the process. "This is a story," you tell him one evening. "Show that what it feels like. Make them see the vision before you go into how it works."

Somewhere around the fourth late night, you sit back into your chair after another dry run, watching him with an intensity that makes him nearly forget his lines.

“Stop talking like you’re trying to convince them you’re good enough,” you say, "You are. You have to believe it, or no one else will."

Mingyu blinks, the words landing with unexpected weight. You say it like it's a fact - as if there's no question about his abilities, just his confidence. Something in your gaze is softer than he's ever seen, and for the first time, he wonders how many long nights like these you've spent not just perfecting your work, but holding yourself up to impossible standards too.

He nods, taking a breath. “Right. Believe it.”

By the night before the presentation, he’d rehearsed the pitch so many times he could recite it in his sleep. You give him one last nod, a subtle flicker of approval in your eyes. "You're ready."

The day of the meeting dawns, and Mingyu arrives early, the faint taste of nerves tingling in his throat. When he enters the boardroom, the client representatives are all seated, an assortment of tailored suits and sceptical expressions. Mr. Choi offers a nod of encouragement from his place at the head of the table, and you stand nearby, arms folded, watching him with that same quiet intensity.

As he begins his pitch, Mingyu can feel his initial nerves settle, his voice steady as he moves through each point. He doesn’t just talk about “Green Above” like an idea on paper; he paints it as a vision, something meant to make the city’s skyline greener, bolder, better. He gestures to the architectural mockups, describing the rooftop garden as not just a feature but a destination, an asset that would be both functional and iconic.

He can tell, halfway through, that the room has shifted. The clients sit forward, nodding, leaning into his words, their initial scepticism melting as he lays out the plan. The numbers, the materials, the maintenance — it’s all there, practical but wrapped in the bigger picture he’s been rehearsing for nights on end.

When he finishes, the room is silent for a beat before the client’s lead representative nods, visibly impressed. “It’s… ambitious,” he says, almost smiling. “But I see what you mean. Let’s move forward.”

Mingyu grins, fighting the urge to fist pump as the clients exchange approving glances. He looks over at you, who gives him the slightest nod of approval. He can almost see a glimmer of pride in your expression, faint but undeniable.

As the room empties and the clients file out, Mingyu's heart is still racing, his whole body humming with triumph. He turns to you, grinning wide. "We did it," he says, his voice barely containing his excitement. "I mean ... I did it. But only because you..."

He trails off, realising just how close you're standing, the quiet of the empty room settling around you. Your gaze meets his, and for a moment, you don't look away. It's a long, lingering look, like you're seeing him not just as an employee or an eager architect but as… him. Someone who cares, who tries, who’s just won his first major victory and feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “For all of it. I don’t think I could have pulled it off without you.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering with something he can’t quite place. Your expression softens, your lips parting slightly as if your about to say something else. And in that moment, there’s a warmth between them, a shared understanding that words alone wouldn’t quite capture.

“Just… keep going,” you say finally, your voice so quiet it feels like a secret. “You’re more capable than you realize, Mingyu.”

The way you says his name — with that subtle, unfamiliar warmth — makes his heart skip. He nods, still holding your gaze, feeling the weight of everything you’ve shared in the past week in that single, electric second.

And then, as if the moment might disappear if you linger too long, you step back, your usual composure slipping back into place.

For the first time, Mingyu feels that maybe — just maybe — there’s more between them than late-night work sessions and professional boundaries. And as you walk side by side down the quiet hall, he can’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, you might be feeling it too.

Mingyu's gotten good at convincing himself he's not entirely losing it. So what if his boss, who barely blinks at a 15-hour day and thinks "weekends" are a suggestion, is suddenly occupying 90% of his mental bandwidth? That's just ... professional admiration. So when he finds himself thinking about you at odd times - like, mid-bite of his breakfast burrito, or what he's supposed to be learning zoning codes - he brushes it off. After all, it's normal to be totally absorbed by someone you admire.

One evening, after bringing home takeout and trying (again) to casually mention his most recent success, Wonwoo decides to drop a bomb. "I saw an article about your boss the other day, you know. Back when she first joined the firm. People in the comments kept talking about something called the Westbrook Project - ever heard of it?"

"Westbrook Project?" Mingyu repeats, a little too quickly, his brain scrambling. Nothing. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard the name before, but it’s his boss, so he’s probably supposed to know. After Wonwoo can't provide any more details, Mingyu does what any self-respecting architect does at 2 a.m. when faced with a mysterious professional tidbit: he Googles it. Expecting, like, a vague overview, maybe some old press releases. What he finds, though, are words like "abandoned," "budget issues," and, worst of all, "failure," with your name all over it. Ouch. Big, deep ouch.

The next day at work, Mingyu manages to strike up a casual conversation with the marketing guy who's practically the office encyclopedia. "Oh, the Westbrook Project?" he says with a knowing smirk. "I read the case files. It was supposed to be, like, revolutionary. Eco-forward, huge downtown build. A lot of drama when it got shut down. Man, Ms (Y/l/n) was obsessed with that thing. You've gotta respect someone who fights like that for their work." He laughs a little, but there's something almost pitying in his tone, like he doesn't quite know what to make of someone who has been through such a high-profile professional failure.

Mingyu's stomach drops as he realises that there's a whole side of you - this weight - he never saw before. He feels embarrassed for not knowing. But, maybe, it explains the way you hold yourself together, so careful with your words, so precise in every gesture. Because what happens when you give so much of yourself, and it still isn't enough?

Mingyu can't help but glance at you differently when you walk into the office. You're still the same, all business and poise, but there's a weight to you now that he hadn't noticed before. It's not his place to ask you about Westbrook, and he's not sure he could even bring it up without tripping over his own words.

So, Mingyu brings it up.

Not immediately, because he's not that much of a disaster. It's not the same day, or even the same week. It's one of those late nights when he's deep into pretending he's not panicking over math, and he's only going into your office to ask if you've seen the last-minute email from the client. 

Except. 

He sees the bottle of red on your desk.

It's sitting there, a little too casually, with half of it in a glass that's perched too close to your mouse. 

It's not that Mingyu thought you didn't drink. But seeing it there, on your desk, is like catching a glimpse of a teacher's pet outside of school. His brain starts spiralling. Are you getting drunk? Are you able to get drunk?

Still standing in the doorway like he's caught in some sort of personal disaster movie, Mingyu clears his throat. "Uh," he starts, because his brain is still stuck on you drinking alcohol in the office, "What's the deal with the wine?"

You glance up from your computer, completely unfazed. "Oh, this?" You wave a hand, almost like it’s nothing. “A gift from a client. They thought I needed something to ‘relax’ after all the late nights." You flash a teasing grin. "I didn’t think anyone else would be in the office this late, though."

Mingyu freezes again. Seeing a smile on your face is unnerving him. "Uh, well, yeah ... just ... I thought you were busy, y'know? I didn't want to disturb you," he stammers, as if that makes any sense. Of course you know he's here. He's always here. He's practically a fixture at this point.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly not fooled. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway, now that you’re here," you say, looking at him with a glint of curiosity, "what’s been keeping you up lately? Besides zoning codes and whatever else you’ve been trying to memorise, that is."

Mingyu, caught completely off guard by the question, opens his mouth to respond, but his brain, still fighting the urge to melt into the floor, can't form a proper sentence. His gaze flicks back to the wine bottle like it holds all the answers to his life right now. Finally, he blurts out, "Uhh... I’ve been, uh, thinking about the Green Above project. You know, the one we’re working on?"

“Right,” you nod, leaning back in your chair. “Big, green rooftop. You’ve got your hands full with that one.” You take a sip from your glass, and Mingyu swears the way your lips wrap around the rim is completely unfair to his focus. “What else?”

Mingyu, not used to people asking him personal questions that aren’t about work or how he’s planning on saving the planet with his architectural genius, scratches the back of his neck. “Uh... I mean, well, I’ve been wondering about... you. I mean, your—" he pauses, shaking his head, "your work, of course. Like, how you got into all this. You’ve clearly been through a lot, right?”

You chuckle softly, eyes softening for a brief moment. "A lot? Yeah, I guess you could say that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now, is it?" You lean forward. "What's really going on, Mingyu?"

Mingyu’s mind is officially in crisis mode. He could barely form a sentence when talking about wine, and now you’ve flipped the tables. What is he even supposed to say?

“I—uh, well, it’s just... I’m curious,” he mutters, struggling to sound casual. He bites his lip, then his curiosity gets the best of him. “Wait, can I ask about something?”

You lean back again, clearly amused. “Go ahead.”

He takes a breath and gestures to the cabinet rested against the back wall of your office. "That picture there .. of a building, I think? It kind of looks like the Westbrook Project. Was it yours?” He winces as soon as he asks, knowing full well how awkward this must sound. But now he really wants to know, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending he hasn’t been thinking about it.

You blink, clearly not expecting him to ask, but then you just sigh and open your desk drawer, revealing an old architectural sketch, detailed and bold, with a city skyline in the background. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter now. “It was.”

Mingyu swallows hard, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone. “What happened to it? The project, I mean... why didn’t it go through?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another slow sip of your wine, letting the moment stretch out. When you finally speak, your voice is calm but laced with something unspoken. “It was a good idea, just... not the right time. But that’s how it goes sometimes in this field. Things get started, and then... they don’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, processing what you’ve shared. “I get that,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been there too. You know, not everything works out exactly the way you expect.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, there’s this quiet weight in your expression, something raw you don’t usually let slip. The smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness—more like... an understanding, an acceptance.

“The Westbrook Project was supposed to be everything I’ve worked for,” you begin, your voice softer now, like the walls are coming down just a little. “My goal has always been to help the community, to build things that people can actually enjoy, not just walk by and forget. I wanted something that would be a part of the city, something that people could use—a space that felt like it belonged to everyone.” You stop, looking at the picture in the drawer for a moment as if it’s not just a sketch, but a piece of your heart. "The Westbrook Project was supposed to be the culmination of all that. The perfect mix of green spaces, architecture, and public access. I wanted to create something people would look at and feel like they were part of it, you know? Not just bystanders."

You take another slow breath, running a hand through your hair, looking a bit less put-together than usual, but somehow even more... real. “I think that’s the hardest part. It wasn’t just a project to me—it was everything I believed in. And when it got shut down... it felt like a piece of that belief just... crumbled.” You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. “I know it sounds dramatic, but when you spend so much of your time fighting for something, putting everything into it... and it still isn’t enough... it makes you wonder what the point is.”

Mingyu watches you closely with a strange mix of admiration and empathy. For a second, he’s struck with the urge to reach out and say something comforting, but all he can manage is a quiet, "That... sounds incredible. You must have been really proud of it."

You nod, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was. Still am, in a way. But life moves on, right?” You glance back at the bottle of wine, then take another sip, before setting it down and meeting Mingyu’s gaze again, this time with a lighter, almost teasing glint. "You want some?"

“Uh... yeah?” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement, as if he's still trying to make sure this is actually happening.

You pour him a glass, your movements slow and deliberate. Mingyu watches every little gesture, thinking that maybe if he looks at the wine long enough, it might just turn into something less dangerous. It doesn't.

He takes the glass from you, trying to act casual, but honestly? It's a miracle he doesn’t spill it everywhere. "Thanks," he mutters.

You smirk at him as if you know exactly what’s going on in his head, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if you can hear it, too—the way his pulse skips whenever he looks at you. He takes a sip of the wine, hoping it will steady him. It doesn’t. It only makes him more aware of you, of the way your eyes glint in the dim light of the office, how close you’re sitting, how warm it feels in here all of a sudden.

“So,” you say, your voice dropping a little lower than before, “Now that we’ve gone through my failed projects, do you feel enlightened?”

Mingyu laughs, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard. He leans back, trying to appear cool, but it’s hard to be anything but a mess when you’re so close and everything feels a little off in the best possible way. “Enlightened? I’m still figuring out if you’re real,” he admits, voice cracking just a bit.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment as his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. “It’s just ... you’re different than what I expected. I mean, you’re still, like, boss mode, but there’s this whole other side to you. Like, I don't know ... I think I’ve been seeing you as this untouchable, perfect person, and now I’m realising maybe I’m not the only one who’s human.”

You blink at him for a moment, and then—before he can get too embarrassed—something flickers across your face. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe it’s something else. You lean in just slightly, the air between you thickening, but you don't break the distance just yet.

“I think,” you start slowly, “you might be onto something there, Mingyu.”

His breath hitches. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, the late hour, or the way your voice dropped that has him leaning forward a little. It’s all of it, really. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a knowing smile. “You might find I’m not so untouchable, after all. But—” You pause, the tension rising as your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his eyes. “We’ll see if you can handle the reality of that.”

Mingyu’s mind is going full tilt now, brain in overdrive, as his hand involuntarily moves closer to yours on the desk. He's this close to spilling all his thoughts and feelings—about work, about the project, about the way you make him feel—but instead, he blurts out, “I—uh, I’m pretty good with challenges.”

The words hang there, thick in the air between you. And then, before Mingyu can think any more about it, you break the tension—just slightly—by leaning even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you are.”

The space between you shrinks, just a little. And Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, finds himself absolutely certain that if things don’t shift soon, this office might just catch fire from how hot it’s gotten in the last few minutes. The tension in the air is thick, like static before a storm. Mingyu’s hand hovers just a fraction too close to yours on the desk, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He’s this close to losing all control, caught between wanting to say the right thing and just leaning in and kissing you. But what would that even mean? Would it be the worst decision of his life? Or the best?

His thoughts are a mess, but then—just like that—it’s like you’ve made up your mind for him. You close the space between you with a single, deliberate movement, your lips pressing softly against his.

Mingyu freezes for half a second, too stunned to process what’s happening. And then, without even thinking, he leans into the kiss, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It’s slow at first, soft, like neither of you can quite believe this is actually happening. Your lips are warm, and the taste of wine lingers on them—something sweet and intoxicating that has his head spinning.

You pull back just slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, and he feels his pulse race. You look at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're not regretting this, are you?" you murmur, voice low.

“No,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “Definitely not regretting this.”

And then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your hands moving to his collar as if you’re suddenly both starved for this closeness. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and all he can think about is how right this feels, how every inch of him seems to have been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grows more urgent, more heated. His body presses into yours, the desk suddenly feeling too small, too far away. He wants you closer, needs you closer, and the way you move against him makes him ache with desire. He’s so lost in you, in this kiss, that everything else fades away—the Westbrook Project, work deadlines, the office. There’s only you, only this.

You're mumbling something and Mingyu's not sure he has the brain capacity to listen when he can feel your hands on his chest and your body pressed against his.

"... couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, who looks like this?"

His brain practically short-circuits at that. 

You’re grinning now, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. But before he can manage a reply, you reach up, your hand grazing the back of his neck as you lean in again. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly his brain clears—just long enough for him to close the remaining distance between you two.

The kiss this time is less hesitant, filled with a kind of urgency that makes the room feel smaller, more intense. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against him, and he feels your fingers twisting in his hair as if you can’t get enough either. Every brush of your lips sends another jolt through him, and he’s quickly losing any sense of professionalism or reason. He’s just Mingyu, in this moment, in this office, completely undone by you.

You’re mumbling again, half-laughing as he trails his lips down to the corner of your mouth and just slightly to your jawline. “I mean, really,” you manage between kisses, breathy but amused. “Did you even realise the effect you have?”

He lets out a breath of laughter against your skin, half a smirk forming. “I—I mean, maybe,” he says, but the words come out more as a gasp because you’ve got your hands back on him, your fingers trailing along his jaw in a way that has him melting. “I might have... kinda hoped, at least?”

“Oh?” Your voice is soft, teasing, and he catches a flash of that mischievous smile just before you lean in again, catching him in another kiss that’s more intense, more consuming than before.

Mingyu’s senses are a blur, but he manages to break away for just a second, eyes dark, a grin of his own tugging at his lips. “I think,” he says, his voice low, “I’d like to show you just how much I can handle.” His tone is playful but edged with a confidence he didn’t know he had until this very moment.

The moment is thick, like honey, everything moving slower and faster at once. Mingyu’s hands slip around your waist, and you’re tugging him closer, a little breathless, a little reckless. You’re both lost in the feeling of it, the thrill and warmth that seemed impossible just minutes ago.

But then—a sharp vibration echoes against the desk. The hum of your phone springs to life, startling you both. The screen lights up with an urgent notification, reminding you exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

You pull back, your lips just a whisper away from his, and a flicker of reality cuts through the haze of the moment. “Oh—” Your hands drop from his collar, fingertips brushing his chest as if the memory of the touch will fade otherwise. “Mingyu, I...”

His eyes meet yours, still dark and soft, a little dazed, a little too hopeful. But he pulls himself together, straightening and running a hand through his hair, somehow flustered and grinning at the same time. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he says, though it’s not clear who he’s apologising to.

You swallow, nodding as you try to steady yourself. “I—need to go,” you manage. “We both do, actually. It’s...late.”

Mingyu blinks, nodding, though he can't help the hint of disappointment beneath his expression. “Right. Of course. We probably... shouldn’t even be here right now.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if that could somehow erase the last few minutes. “Guess I should close up?”

You nod, and he watches your hand move to your chest, as if to catch your pulse before it runs off. “Yeah, let’s...do that.”

As you step out of the office, you glance back one last time, catching his eye in the dim light. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

His gaze is steady, his voice warm. “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mingyu stands there, staring at it as if it might magically swing back open. For a moment, he doesn’t move, too stunned to process the fact that you were just here, inches away, closer than he ever thought possible, and then—gone. The warmth of you, the softness of your touch, is still buzzing on his skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not replay every single second in his mind.

He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his face, laughing softly to himself. “Wow,” he mutters, barely believing it. Did that really just happen? His boss—the woman he’s spent months trying not to have a full-on crisis over every time she looks at him—just kissed him. And it wasn’t just a peck; it was real, and his head is still spinning.

He paces the office, catching his reflection in the dark window. His hair’s a mess, his shirt collar a little crumpled, and the look on his face is somewhere between ecstatic and completely lost. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff—excited but terrified, staring down into something he can’t quite see.

“Okay, pull it together, man,” he whispers, clutching the edge of his desk like it might hold him steady. But he can’t shake the lingering feeling of your hands against him, the way your voice softened as you spoke to him about your dreams, how for a moment, he felt like he’d glimpsed something real and vulnerable and human in you. It’s like he’s been handed the answer to a riddle he didn’t even know he was solving.

He glances back at the empty doorway and smiles, a little helplessly. Because he knows—there’s no going back from this.

On Monday, Mingyu is ready. He's had days to replay every single second of that kiss, dissecting the tiniest details: the way you'd smiled before leaning in, the way you'd pulled back just a bit only to close the gap even tighter the next time. He’s convinced there’s no way you could look at him the same after that. He’s barely looked at himself the same.

So when he walks into the office Monday morning, there's this nervous excitement buzzing in his chest. He expects maybe a shared look or even a subtle nod, something that says 'yeah, we're definitely not forgetting that happened'. But he doesn't get that. In fact, he doesn't get much of anything.

“Uh, good morning,” he finally says, attempting a smile, hoping to break whatever tension he’s imagining.

“Morning,” you say briskly, barely looking up. “Did you get the updated renderings for the Green Above project?”

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard by how quickly you’ve brushed him off. “Yeah, I—um, they should be in your inbox. I, uh, made some adjustments you might want to look at.”

“Great. I’ll check later,” you say, curtly, already turning back to your computer. It’s not even like you’re being rude, exactly; just… distant. Professional. Totally not how you’d looked at him last week when he’d practically melted into you against this very desk.

The day drags on with more of the same. Every time he tries to catch your eye, you’re looking somewhere else. Every attempt at a lighthearted comment, something to bridge the gap, lands with a dull thud. By mid-afternoon, Mingyu’s just staring at his computer screen, feeling completely lost. Did he imagine everything? Because suddenly, it feels like he’s reading way too much into every little thing, wondering if the smile you’d given him that night was all in his head.

By the end of the day, he can’t take it anymore. He decides to be subtle—or something like that—and casually leans into your office as you’re gathering your things.

“Hey, um… are we good?” He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge of worry there that he can’t quite hide. “It feels like—well, last week was—”

You glance up sharply, your expression guarded. “We’re fine, Mingyu,” you say, with a tone that’s just a little too even. “You’re doing great on the project. Keep up the good work.”

There’s that polished professional mask again, and this time it feels like a wall. Mingyu’s stomach twists, and he can’t help but feel a sting in his chest. He nods, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in. "Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that up.”

And just like that, you walk past him, your footsteps echoing down the hallway as you head out for the night, leaving him standing there, staring after you, wondering what just went wrong.

It’s Thursday, and Mingyu’s still thinking about every clipped interaction you’ve had all week. He’s convinced he’s somehow messed everything up, but he’s not sure how. By lunchtime, he’s already halfway through a takeout sandwich in the break room when some of the other junior architects drift in, plates and coffees in hand. He’s only half-listening to their conversation, until, like a magnet, he hears your name.

“Did you see how she restructured the timeline?” One of them—Hyun, a friend from Mingyu’s first week—says, rolling his eyes. “Feels like she’s trying to prove something to everyone.”

Another snorts. “Yeah, she’s always like that. Like she has to make everything harder just to remind us she’s the boss.”

Mingyu freezes mid-bite, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest. He’d learned more from working with you in the past few months than he could’ve in years of grad school. You didn’t ask anyone to work harder than you did yourself, and Mingyu’s certain no one stays later or puts in more effort than you do.

“Maybe she just actually cares about the projects,” Mingyu snaps, dropping his sandwich. The room goes a bit quiet, a few heads turning his way in surprise. “I mean, do you guys know how much time she’s spent on this? She’s doing half of our jobs for us so we don’t mess it up.”

Hyun raises an eyebrow. "Calm down, Mingyu. Everyone knows she's intense."

“‘Intense’ doesn’t mean you have to talk about her like that,” Mingyu says, his voice a bit sharper than he means it to be. “Maybe if people here actually appreciated all the work she does, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘intense’ to get things done.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, everyone looking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Hyun mutters, "That's easy to say when you're the one getting special favours from her."

Mingyu's jaw clenches, the insinuation making his blood boil.  Special favours? He opens his mouth to snap back, but then catches himself. Getting defensive will only make things worse, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for the late nights or the extra hours you’ve spent on his work. The truth is, he’s learned more from those “extra” moments than he could ever explain to Hyun and the others.

“Look,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “If you guys actually put in half the effort she does, you’d see it’s not about favourites. It’s about getting things right. Maybe if you tried it sometime, you’d get the same attention.”

Hyun snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Must be nice, though, always getting her undivided attention. Pretty convenient, huh?”

The others chuckle, and Mingyu feels his face flush. He glances down, jaw set tight as he clenches his fists under the table. He can feel the weight of their stares and half-smirks, their words pressing in on him like a slow burn he can’t shake off.

The door swings open just then, and he catches sight of you standing there, eyes narrowed, a faint frown on your face. His heart drops, and suddenly he realizes you must have heard—possibly all of it.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mingyu?” Your tone is measured, calm, but he can tell there’s something icy underneath. The others exchange looks, clearly ready to gossip the second you both leave.

Mingyu follows you out of the room, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. As soon as you’re out of earshot, you turn to him, arms crossed.

“So is that how you’re spending your lunch breaks now?” you ask, a cool edge to your voice. “Defending me in the office cafeteria?”

Mingyu swallows, unsure how to respond. “I just… didn’t think they should be talking about you like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he can feel the intensity of your gaze. “It wasn’t right.”

You sigh, pressing your lips together, something almost unreadable flickering across your face. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mingyu,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to handle what people say behind my back. You’re here to do your job, not to play protector.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. He wants to argue, to tell you that maybe you don’t need anyone’s help, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be dragged through the mud behind your back. But something in your expression stops him. He nods, swallowing back whatever words were fighting their way to the surface. “Got it,” he says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but then you just shake your head, walking away with a tense set to your shoulders. He watches you go, the frustration and confusion still churning inside him, wondering just how much further away you both seem to get with every step.

Later that evening, Mingyu slumps into the apartment, looking so defeated that Wonwoo’s expression goes from mildly bored to instantly entertained. “Let me guess. It’s about your boss?” Wonwoo doesn’t even wait for confirmation before tossing him a soda. “You’re like a walking rom-com.”

Mingyu sighs, collapsing on the couch. “Wonwoo, I think she hates me. I mean, really hates me.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were practically having candlelit takeout dinners in her office.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, deflating. “Yeah, well, that was before I kissed her.”

Wonwoo’s phone slides out of his hand, falling onto the couch like a lead balloon. “You what?”

Mingyu nods slowly, a rueful look on his face. “We were working late. It just—happened, okay? And now she’s all distant. Like, avoid me at all costs distant.”

“You kissed your boss?” Wonwoo repeats, still processing. He’s looking at Mingyu like he’s a particularly unsolvable math problem. “As in, the one you worship and whose entire life story you’ve googled?”

“Yes, that one,” Mingyu mutters, covering his face with his hands. “And it was incredible. Like, the kind of kiss that makes you think about life and all your choices and, you know… stuff.” He trails off, his voice a bit dreamy despite himself. “But then, after that, she started acting all cold, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo stares at him, baffled. “Did you, uh, talk to her about it? You know, use words and stuff?”

Mingyu gives him a look. “Of course I tried talking to her. But she’s been all serious and professional and—ugh.” He sinks deeper into the couch. “And today, I may or may not have defended her in front of everyone. Like, really aggressively.”

Wonwoo groans. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?”

“Look, it just came out! They were acting like she’s some kind of boss robot or something. I just couldn’t listen to it.” Mingyu shakes his head. “And of course, she overheard it and was not happy. Told me she doesn’t need someone to protect her.”

Wonwoo considers this, eyebrows furrowed. “So basically, you kissed her, defended her honour, and now you think you ruined everything because she’s distant?”

“Exactly,” Mingyu sighs. “I feel like I messed it all up, and now she thinks I’m just some junior architect with a crush or something.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean, to be fair, you kind of are a junior architect with a crush.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo. Really needed that.” Mingyu glares at him, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Wonwoo nudges him, his tone a little lighter now. “Look, man, maybe she just needs to know it was more than a one-time, late-night thing for you. Like, a serious talk. But not at the office, where everything’s so formal. Just the two of you.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “A serious talk… outside of work. Like, maybe over coffee?”

“Or dinner. Or anything where you can show her that you’re interested in more than work. Just, you know, don’t do that thing where you panic and say something weird.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically. “So, no pressure.”

Wonwoo grins, giving him a slap on the back. “You’ve got this, Romeo. Go win her over.”

Mingyu stands in front of your office door, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves like he's preparing for a public execution. He’s been rehearsing this moment for the last twenty minutes—while staring at his desk like it could offer him some sort of guidance—and he still has no idea what he’s doing. He only knows that if he doesn't get his foot in the door right now, he's going to spend the rest of the day overthinking this until his brain short circuits.

So, he knocks.

And of course, you don’t answer immediately. He stands there like a complete idiot, holding his breath for about five seconds before taking the most awkward step inside. Your eyes flick up to him, and for a second, he’s sure his heart is going to stop.

“Oh. Mingyu.” You sound surprised. Great. That’s just what he needed. "What do you need?"

He smiles, too big, too eager. This is fine. “Hey! So, um, I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as if you already know where this is going.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says quickly, forcing himself to sound more convincing than he feels. “I just, you know… you’ve been working super hard, and I was thinking, you deserve a break. So, what do you say? Dinner? You and me, tonight.”

You blink at him like he just asked if you wanted to run through the streets naked.

“Dinner? With you?” You tilt your head, looking him up and down, clearly trying to figure out if he’s joking or if his brain’s just melted from exhaustion.

"Yup!" Mingyu says, definitely a little too loud and way too enthusiastic. “Yeah, just dinner. No work talk, no presentations, just a chance to unwind, you know?” He grins like he's already won, but there’s something in your gaze that makes him freeze up.

You raise an eyebrow, studying him carefully. The air between you two is thick with that awkward tension, like you’re both trying to figure out if this is a professional gesture or something else entirely. Mingyu can feel the temperature in the room rise, and his stomach does a somersault as he waits for you to respond.

“Are you… serious right now?” You finally ask, your tone a mix of confusion and cautious curiosity.

Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest. “Of course, I’m serious,” he says quickly, voice cracking slightly as his nerves get the best of him. “I mean, it’s not like—uh, it’s not like I want anything weird to happen. It’s just dinner. With two people who both happen to work in the same office. Completely normal, right?” He laughs a little too loudly, and it sounds forced, like someone desperately trying to convince themselves of something they don’t believe.

You’re silent for a moment, and Mingyu’s brain spins with overthinking. Should he apologise? Should he leave before this gets even more awkward? Why did he even think this was a good idea? His palms are sweating, his throat dry, and he feels like he might pass out from sheer mortification.

You lean back in your chair, still watching him, and for a second, Mingyu is sure you’re about to shut him down completely. But then, something shifts in your expression—just the faintest flicker of amusement, like you’re trying not to let it show.

“Dinner,” you repeat, almost like you’re testing the word, as though it’s foreign or absurd coming from him. “No work talk?”

“No work talk,” Mingyu confirms, nodding so hard he might give himself whiplash. “I promise. Just good food and maybe a chance to, you know, talk about literally anything else.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smirks, and Mingyu swears the room feels a little less tense. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

He grins, a spark of hope lighting up his chest. “I like to think of it as... enthusiastic.”

You shake your head, clearly amused now, though you’re doing your best to hide it. “Fine,” you say, leaning forward to jot something on a sticky note. “Dinner."

Mingyu’s heart leaps, and he barely resists the urge to fist pump right there in your office. “Deal!” he says, grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t hurt. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” you agree, handing him the sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Don’t be late, Mingyu.”

He takes the note like it’s a golden ticket, clutching it in his hand as if it might disappear. “I won’t. I’ll see you there.”

As he walks out of your office, he can’t help the goofy smile plastered across his face.

By the time the evening rolls around, Mingyu is pacing outside the restaurant like a man on the edge. He’s checked his watch twice, his phone four times, and stared at the sidewalk so long he’s convinced it’s going to start judging him soon. Late. You're late. Or maybe he’s just early. Impossible to say when your nerves feel like they’re hosting a small rave in your chest.

After all, there’s something about you that makes him want to try harder. Maybe too hard, but he’s finally learned that no one gets anywhere by waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. So, here he is, standing outside the restaurant, pacing like a nervous wreck while waiting for you to arrive.

He’s tried to stay calm, really. Spent the entire afternoon mentally drafting this… whatever this dinner is supposed to be. Not a date (probably). Not a work meeting (definitely). Just dinner. Dinner with the one person who’s managed to turn him into a bundle of energy and chaos masquerading as a fully functional adult.

And then, right as he’s about to dial his mom and ask for advice (because that’s clearly what any reasonable person would do), he sees you.

You walk up with that confident stride, the one that always makes his heart skip a beat, and Mingyu feels himself freeze for a moment, completely forgetting everything he’s planned to say. You've changed and you look good. Too good for a casual dinner, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey,” you greet him with a smile, your eyes soft, but not quite soft enough for him to completely relax. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up on time.”

Mingyu laughs, awkwardly tugging at his shirt. “I like to be punctual. It’s kind of a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment on the obvious lie, allowing the small banter to settle between you like a cushion. Instead, you let him open the restaurant door for you, falling into that casual rhythm that somehow feels more natural than the air he’s been breathing all day.

The dinner itself is nice. Too nice. No weird silences, no work talk, just good food and easy conversation. And yet, there’s a weight in the room that Mingyu can’t shake. It’s been lingering ever since the kiss—the kiss—and he knows he can’t keep tiptoeing around it forever. So as the plates are cleared and the server drops off the check, he reaches into his bag, pulling out the rolled-up plans he’s been carrying like a talisman.

He sets them on the table, his hands a little too careful, his heart racing like it’s bracing for impact.

“Okay, now you’re being mysterious,” you say, the smallest hint of amusement curling your lips.

Mingyu’s throat goes dry, but he pushes forward, unrolling the designs and smoothing them out between the two of you. “I know I said no work talk,” he starts, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, “but… I’ve been working on this. And I thought you should see it.”

Your eyes drop to the papers, and he watches as your expression shifts. At first, there’s curiosity, then recognition, and finally… something deeper. Something he can’t quite name but feels in the way your fingers tremble slightly as they trace the edges of the designs with a reverence he didn’t know he could envy. Your fingers are delicate but deliberate, the way you touch the plans like they might vanish under too much pressure. Mingyu’s heart is pounding so loudly he's surprised you can’t hear it across the table.

“Where did you get these?” Your voice comes out hoarse, more vulnerable than you mean it to be.

“I’ve been working on them for a while,” Mingyu admits, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table. “After you talked about the Westbrook Project that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much it mattered to you. I wanted to do something with it. Something for you.”

You blink, unsure how to process this. “But how did you know?”

“I just—” Mingyu hesitates, then shrugs. “I listened. I saw it. The way you talked about it that night, the passion you put into your projects. I wanted to give it the respect it deserves. I couldn’t let it just end with a ‘no’.”

You stare at the designs again, looking like you've been hit by a wave of nostalgia and shock. "You really... did this for me?”

“I did,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I think it could be something we could do together. If you’re interested.”

You pause, the space between you thick with emotion, something unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, you swallow and look at him, searching his face as if trying to make sure this is real.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Mingyu.” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite hide the emotion that’s flooding through you. “You’ve—this is everything I’ve been trying to do. But I didn’t think anyone else could see it.”

He sits up straighter, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I just didn't want you to let go of something so important," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "It deserves another chance. You deserve another chance."

He doesn't know where he finds the courage to say those words. They sound so earnest. Almost embarrassingly so. But, it's the truth, and if there's one thing he's learned from you, it's that honesty - no matter how uncomfortable - is the foundation of anything worth building.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away—the low hum of conversation, the soft clink of silverware, all of it. It's just you and Mingyu, sitting across from each other, separated by a stack of papers and an ocean of unspoken feelings.

"Mingyu..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat.

You look down, the faintest hint of a tremble in your hands. And Mingyu, who had been prepared for you to shut him down, to dismiss this moment as anything but professional, has to fight the urge to reach across the table and take your hand. He doesn't, of course. He can't. Not yet.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He's not used to this - seeing you so vulnerable - and he just wants to take some of that pressure off your back. "Look, I know I’m not perfect. I mess up, I talk too much, and I probably drive you crazy most of the time. But I see you, (Y/n). I see how much you care, how much you put into everything you do. And I don’t just admire that—I... I want to be part of it. To be there for you."

Your lips part in surprise. "I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve spent so long trying to keep everything together. To keep people at a distance. And now—"

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Mingyu says softly, sensing the spiral of doubt you appear to be descending into.  "We can take it slow. One step at a time. I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

For a long moment, you don’t move. But then, slowly, you let your hand inch toward his, your fingertips brushing against his palm.

It’s small. Tentative. But it’s enough.

Mingyu barely breathes as your fingers brush his. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt straight through him, grounding him in this moment that feels impossibly fragile. He wraps his hand gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. It’s all he can do to keep himself steady when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance completely.

You don’t pull away, and that feels like a victory in itself. But when you look up at him again, your eyes are brimming with something he can’t quite name—fear, maybe, or hesitation—but also something softer, warmer, that gives him just enough hope to hold on.

“Mingyu,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance down at your joined hands, your brows furrowing slightly as though you’re gathering the courage to say something that’s been weighing on you. “After the kiss... I didn't know what to do.”

His heart skips a beat at the mention of it, the memory still fresh in his mind—the way your lips had felt against his, the way the world had seemed to tilt on its axis for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything, though, afraid that if he interrupts, you’ll stop.

“I started acting cold because...” You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Mingyu blinks, his chest tightening at your words. “Me?” His voice is soft, cautious. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he needs to understand.

You nod, your gaze flickering back to his, vulnerable but resolute. “You scare me, Mingyu. Not in a bad way, but... in a way I’ve never felt before. You’re so open, so sincere. You make everything seem so easy, like it’s natural to just—feel. And for me, that’s... terrifying.”

He watches you, his heart breaking a little with every word. He wants to say something, to tell you that you don’t have to be scared, but he knows this isn’t the time. He needs to let you finish.

“I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s just easier that way. I don’t get hurt, and I don’t hurt anyone else. But then you came along, with your ridiculous optimism and your... your kindness, and suddenly I didn’t know how to keep you out. And that kiss—it made me realise I can’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say to match the weight of what you’re giving him. So he squeezes your hand, letting his touch say what his words can’t.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you continue, your voice soft but unsteady. “But I thought if I could convince myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it all fell apart.”

Mingyu shakes his head slowly, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere."

You look at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because your shoulders relax just a fraction, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeat, your voice barely audible. “But I think... I think I want to try.”

And that’s it. That’s all Mingyu needs. His chest swells with something that feels suspiciously like hope, and he leans in just enough. "I don't need perfect. I just need you, the way you are, right here, right now."

For a moment, there’s silence. Not the awkward kind—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath just for you. Mingyu’s words hang in the air, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he stops. His heart is doing that thing again, where it feels way too big for his chest, and honestly, he’s not sure if that’s romantic or just a pending medical emergency.

You glance down, exhaling softly, and then look back up at him with that small, tentative smile that could single-handedly knock him off his chair. “Do you...” You pause, biting your lip like you’re still deciding if this is a terrible idea or just a regular bad one. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Mingyu’s brain short-circuits.

Like, fully shuts down. There’s no reboot happening here. Just static, a faint buzzing sound, and a very unfortunate replay of every romantic comedy scene he’s ever watched where the male lead trips over his own words and ruins everything.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Great. Perfect. Ideal response.

“Mingyu?” you ask, your tone softer now, like you’re worried you might’ve just set his brain on fire.

“I—uh—yes? I mean, yes!” He blurts it out, too loud, and the couple at the next table glance over like they’re wondering if he’s okay. He’s not, but that’s beside the point.

You laugh, and the sound feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure?” you ask, your tone teasing but warm.

“Absolutely,” he says, sitting up straighter, like he’s about to sign an unbreakable contract. “I am very sure. Extremely sure. Couldn’t be more sure.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his spiral. “Okay, then.”

You stand, and Mingyu scrambles to follow, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Smooth. So smooth. He rushes to grab his coat, fumbling with the sleeve as he tries to put it on without dislocating a shoulder. When he finally gets it together and turns back to you, you’re just standing there, watching him with an amused smile.

“You good?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good?” Mingyu repeats, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m great. Amazing. Let’s, uh, go.”

He follows you out of the restaurant, trying to act like a normal, functional human being. Except his palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure he almost tripped on absolutely nothing as you walked to the curb. When you glance back at him, your expression softens, and suddenly, it feels like the world’s gone quiet again.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the chaos in his head. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mingyu lies, his grin wide and unconvincing. “This is just how I always look when I’m—uh—happy.”

You laugh again, shaking your head, and link your arm with his, pulling him gently along. “Come on, let’s go before you combust.”

The walk to your apartment is a blur for Mingyu. His brain is bouncing between, Wow, I can't believe this is happening and What am I supposed to do when we get there? Sit? Stand? Compliment her interior design choices? He's overthinking so hard he barely notices when you nudge him gently and gesture toward the building in front of you.

“This is me,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips like you know exactly how fried his brain is right now.

“Cool,” Mingyu replies, because apparently that’s the only word left in his vocabulary. Cool. Not “nice place” or “wow, it suits you,” just cool. He could punch himself, but then you’re already unlocking the door, and the reality of the moment hits him like a freight train.

The inside of your apartment is warm. Not literally warm—though the temperature is pleasant—but warm in the way it feels lived-in and completely, unmistakably you. It’s smaller than he imagined, but cozy, like every piece of furniture and every object has been chosen for a reason. There’s a soft throw blanket draped over the arm of your couch, a mug on the coffee table with a faint ring from earlier that day, and a half-finished book on the shelf that he knows he’s seen you reading during breaks.

Mingyu steps inside, toeing off his shoes at the door because it feels like the kind of place where shoes on indoors would be a crime. “Your apartment is really nice,” he says, his voice a little too high-pitched because he’s still desperately trying not to think about why he’s here.

“It suits you,” Mingyu says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out too soft, too sincere. When you glance at him, your cheeks warm, he knows he’s said the right thing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and Mingyu is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to spiral. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two people hanging out in a perfectly platonic and definitely not emotionally loaded way. Except it’s not fine, and his brain is racing faster than he can catch up.

He sits down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he looks around again. It’s impossible not to take everything in, to let the space tell him little things about you he didn’t know before. Like how there’s a stack of notebooks on the side table, their covers worn like they’ve been flipped through a thousand times. Or how there’s a candle sitting on the shelf labelled something ridiculous like “Cinnamon Forest Dreams,” and now all he can think about is you lighting it during one of your late-night brainstorming sessions.

When you come back, two glasses of water in hand (because you’re practical like that, of course), Mingyu straightens up, his heart pounding in his chest. You sit down beside him, closer than he expected but not close enough to touch, and he’s suddenly very aware of how small the couch feels.

“So,” you say, handing him a glass, your voice light but your eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness. “What do you think?”

“Of the apartment?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water because it’s something to do with his hands. “I think it’s great. Like... really great. It’s very... you.”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the compliment,” he replies, his grin a little sheepish. “It’s perfect. Just like—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks flushing as he looks down at his glass. Don’t say it. Don’t overdo it.

But you’re looking at him now, your expression softening. “Just like what?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his brain screaming at him to play it cool. “Just like I imagined,” he finally says, his voice quiet but steady. “Like... a space that feels like you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s completely ruined everything. But then you smile—really smile—and his chest feels like it might explode.

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy. “That means a lot.”

He smiles back, trying to ignore the way his heart is doing somersaults. This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing to freak out about. But then your knee bumps against his, and suddenly, he’s not so sure.

Mingyu swallows. A cough almost escapes his throat, but he manages to catch it, instead clearing his throat like he's trying to shake off the sudden, very real butterflies in his stomach.

You, on the other hand, seem perfectly at ease, sipping your water, your eyes not quite meeting his, but still playful, still warm. Your knee stays lightly resting against his.

He looks at you, his mind racing, and wonders if maybe this is one of those moments where he should just say it. Say what’s been sitting heavy on his mind, almost screaming to come out ever since that night—the kiss, the awkwardness, the moments of quiet when he almost wished he could reach out and grab the truth like it was some kind of lifeline.

“Y'know," he begins, his voice coming out a little more nervously than he meant, "I’ve spent most of my life messing up in the most spectacular ways possible. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to making things right."

You tilt your head at him, a playful smile on your lips, but your gaze is intense in a way that makes his breath catch. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mingyu,” you say, your tone teasing, but there’s something beneath it—a quiet, steady assurance that has him clinging to every word.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, his hand tightening slightly around his glass. “Like, when it comes to this—" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, "I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He bites his lip, willing himself not to spill everything at once. “But, I think… I think I really want to try. With you.”

The silence that follows is thick. Mingyu mentally runs through every scenario, and none of them seem to be as perfectly awkward and fragile as this one. He starts to second-guess himself, but before he can say something stupid to cover it all up, you do something that catches him completely off-guard.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his again, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the way you move. Your hand reaches out, fingers gently resting on his forearm, warm and soft. He can feel your pulse, steady and strong, as if somehow in this small gesture, you’re grounding him.

“Mingyu,” you say quietly, and he’s not sure if it’s his name or the way you say it that knocks all the air out of him. “I’m not asking for perfection. I don’t even know what that looks like.”

Mingyu’s breath hitches as he watches you, his heart skipping a beat at the honesty in your eyes. It feels like you're both on the edge of something, teetering between what is and what could be, and yet all Mingyu can think about in this moment is how simple it is to be here with you—how uncomplicated it feels to just let go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” you continue, your voice soft but clear. “But I want to find out. With you."

It’s then that Mingyu realizes how quiet it’s gotten, how still the air is around the two of you. The world outside your apartment could be spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and in this small space, with your hand on his arm, time feels like it’s standing still.

You’re sitting so close now. The space between you is smaller than the gap in his thoughts. His hand, which had been fidgeting with the glass of water, starts to move on its own. He places it gently on the cushion beside you, just a few inches from your own. His palm is open, but he waits.

And then—he takes a breath.

"Can I?" he asks, voice low, almost a whisper, as though he's afraid you'll pull away, as though he's asking permission for something he should have done a hundred times before.

Your eyes lock with his. They're soft, vulnerable, like you're weighing his words against everything that's happened before. For a moment, the world feels like it’s paused, like there’s no room for doubts or what-ifs. There’s just you and him, and something that’s undeniable between you.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you let your gaze drift to his lips, and then, almost imperceptibly, you lean in.

Mingyu doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hand slides from the couch to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek as he moves closer. He feels the heat radiating off you, and his breath catches when your lips are just a breath away.

And then, before he can even think, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the sensation of everything falling into place. The kiss is slow, tender, almost like he’s savouring it, wanting to memorise the moment because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly how it should be.

Your lips move against his in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, and he feels the tension that had been building between the two of you melt away. He’s no longer nervous, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. He just wants to be here with you—now, in this perfect moment.

When you pull away, it’s not with distance, but with the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips, your eyes full of something that makes Mingyu's chest tighten. Your breath is still coming fast, like you’re just as shaken as he is.

He doesn’t say anything at first. There’s no need. His heart is still racing, but now, he’s not afraid of what comes next. He feels like he’s finally stepped into something real, something that might not be easy but is worth every bit of effort.

"I think..." he starts, his voice a little hushed, "I really wanted to do that again."

You laugh softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you tilt your head just enough for your forehead to rest against his. "Yeah?" you murmur, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Mingyu can't help but smile, his hand, still resting gently on your waist, pulls you just a little closer, as if to remind himself that this is real. That you're really here, and this is really happening. You don’t pull away. Instead, your hand moves from his jaw to his collar, gently tugging at the fabric like it’s an invitation he can’t refuse.

And Mingyu? He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips finding yours with more urgency this time. His free hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, all his self-control falling away the moment you’re close enough to feel.

You gasp softly against his lips as his hand slides down to your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip, and he feels you shiver. His pulse is racing in his ears, but it's the warmth of your body against his that completely consumes him. He can't stop. Can't pull away. You taste like the promise of something more, and the way your fingers grip his collar tightens the knot in his stomach until it’s a full-on spiral of heat.

Your mouth moves with his now, more desperate, more demanding, and Mingyu’s heart does that weird, annoying thing again—where it leaps in his chest, and all his thoughts vanish like mist under the sun. He kisses you harder, taking a moment to pull away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting as if you’ve run miles, even though you’ve hardly moved.

“Mingyu...” you whisper, voice breathless, a little unsteady. He feels the sound vibrating through him as much as he hears it.

"Yeah?" he responds, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth despite how utterly wrecked he feels in the best possible way. "You’re not gonna suddenly tell me this is all a huge mistake, right?"

You laugh—a low, playful sound that makes his chest tighten, and then you kiss him again. This time, it's slow, deliberate, like you’re savouring each second, each touch. And Mingyu’s mind short-circuits all over again, as if he's trying to figure out how it's possible for something so simple to make him feel so—so—alive.

Your hands are everywhere now—on his chest, around his neck, tugging him closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. And that’s when he feels it, that surge of want, a physical ache deep in his chest that spreads out to his limbs, making him burn.

He presses you back gently against the armrest of the couch, his lips trailing down to your neck, his breath hitching when you arch into him. The way you melt under his touch is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he even realised he craved. The warmth of your skin, the way your fingers dig into his back, all of it pulls him in, deeper, until he’s lost in the sensation of just being with you.

“Mingyu, we—” you start, but the words cut off when his lips meet the curve of your neck, and the way you shudder against him makes his pulse stutter in his veins. You can’t even finish the sentence, and he’s so close to being past the point of caring.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We what?” he asks, his voice rough. "I won't let you talk if you're going to tell me you changed your mind."

Your gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes, a playful challenge in your expression. "I’m just saying," you murmur, your hands shifting down to his shirt as you slowly begin to unbutton it. "You're going to have to transfer to a different team after Langham is done."

Mingyu grins, a breathless huff of laughter leaving his lips. "As long as I still get to see you every day."

"I'd say you're probably going to get to see a lot more of me." Your words are said innocently enough, but the implication mixed with the feeling of your heaving chest against his is making his head spin again.

And just like that, you have him, every inch of him. Mingyu can’t keep his hands from wandering, can’t keep his lips from pressing harder against yours, can’t keep from falling deeper into this beautiful mess of passion and want. The last shred of his self-control slips away, leaving only you—right here, right now.

Your clothes go quickly, his quicker, until you're both laid bare before the other, entirely vulnerable and at peace at the same time. He's drowning in you, his head nested between your legs, feeling as eager to please as he did the first day he met you. You're gasping his name, hands curling into his hair, head falling back onto your couch in utter bliss. 

And then your fingers are wrapping around his shoulders, digging into the muscles and pulling him back up towards you. He almost falls off the couch he moves so fast, but you don't seem to notice. You're too busy looking positively angelic in front of him, with those large, sparkling eyes staring at him and dirty words pouring out of your mouth.

Mingyu has to hold himself together as you tell him, point blank, to "hurry up, and make love to me."

This isn't Mingyu's first rollercoaster. He's a good-looking guy, and he knows it. He's been with others before, but when you speak to him like that, he feels like he's eighteen again and a girl's just sat on his lap for the first time. 

And it feels so good, you feel so good around him. You might not have to worry about transferring teams, because he's not sure he's going to make it. The noises you're making, the warmth of your body, the scraping of your nails against his chest - it's enough to finish him off (or at least allow him to ignore the ungodly sounds pouring out of his own mouth).

He makes sure you've finished as well before pulling out (because he wants to, not because he feels embarrassed that he came first). A blissful look falls over your face and Mingyu has to mentally take a photo of the image to make sure he never forgets it. He's staring at you; he knows it and you know it, and you're giggling a little and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Wait here," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment by speaking too loudly. He leans down to peck your lips, before running into your bathroom to dispose of the condom and get some towels and blankets. 

The night fades softly into a comfortable quiet as you and Mingyu lay there, nestled on your couch, your bodies half-melted into the cushions, the air between you warm and thick with the lingering feeling of everything now spoken. 

Mingyu is still processing it all. This. This feeling of being here, with you. He’s supposed to be good at this—the whole dating thing, at least. But everything about tonight has been different. And, if he’s being honest with himself, much better than he expected. He expected the awkwardness, the second-guessing, the inevitable when do I leave? moment, but none of that happened. Instead, all that’s left is you. And him. And the soft rhythm of your breathing in the stillness of your apartment.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to act casual, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. This is fine, he thinks, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming that nothing this nice is ever fine. But the voice is quieter now. A lot quieter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt absently, as though you’re trying to figure out the material, the way it fits him, the way it feels beneath your touch.

Mingyu chuckles softly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound. “I guess I’m just... trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Well,” you reply, shifting just enough to lift your head, your eyes soft but amused, “if this is a dream, I’m okay with it. I think I’ll stick around.”

Mingyu's heart skips a beat at the words, but he keeps his voice steady, even if the teasing smile he wears is bordering on ridiculous. “Good, because if this is a dream, I’m not waking up."

As the night deepens and the city lights paint soft patterns on the walls of your apartment, Mingyu finds himself drawn to your window. The skyline stretches before him, a tapestry of glowing spires and shimmering reflections, alive with the energy of the place he loves most. He smiles, realising for the first time how much this view has changed for him. It isn't just buildings and lights anymore - it's connection, collaboration, and the quiet promise of something new. A reminder of what you are going to build together, layer by layer, one light at a time.

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

[redflowersociety]

Saying “I Love You” for the first time. - Mouthwashing HC

These are written with the pretense that… THEY LIKE U BACK!! (Except for Swansea cause he’s married…sorri) THIS WAS SO PAINFUL CAUSE I WAS WRITING THEM IN PARAGRAPHS AND THEN… boom. 1000+ words lost. Never writing on tumblr again, rookie mistake. Anyways, enjoy!! Promise next post will be higher effort

Curly (Pre-Crash)

He’s quick to make a teasing comment on your unprofessionalism, confessing to your captain and all. But he’s honestly super flustered and trying not to grin like a kid on Christmas Day.

He takes a moment to sit with it. It’s likely that you two would have made advances toward each other for a while, as Curly is the type to take things slow if he’s serious. After a year of pining, you two were finally dating! But hearing those words from your lips brought him to such happiness because he knew you meant it unconditionally, without expecting anything from him.

After this instance, it became common practice for both of you to remind the other of your love. Curly had never been a “words-of-affirmation” kind of guy, but this was an exception. “I love you” turned into his favorite phrase, as it was the perfect way to release the tension building in his heart from just how badly he had fallen for you.

Curly (Post-Crash)

He honestly couldn’t believe that you could stomach looking at him, let alone still sit with romantic feelings for him. It brought him to tears when he heard it, unable to comprehend how somebody could show him such boundless affection and care. He wasn’t used to unconditional love.

He forced himself through the immense pain to slur the words back, and that’s when you began to cry. He forced it out again and again, until you convinced him through pleading not to speak. You knew how much it hurt him, so you assured him that knowing was enough. You didn’t need the reassurance.

Upon your return to Earth, Curly not only had surgeries to make his face a little more structurally sound, but he had attended speech therapy to make up for the years he spent in near silence. One of the first things he learned was your name, and then “I love you.” It brought you to tears hearing it again for the first time in so long. It was okay though, as he could hold you in his scarred arms as long as you needed to cry it all out.

Daisuke

At first, he thought you were being silly. “Aww, I love you too,” he giggled. It wasn’t until you spoke up again with a more serious tone that he realized, and you swear you’d never seen a man turn red so fast. He was so taken aback, asking you at least five times if you were serious and if you were sure. Once his nerves were satisfied, he returned the gesture.

“I love you too. Like a lot, a lot. Soooo much. Like, I really thought I was tweaking out or something from like, the way my whole body would go numb around you and my brain would get fuzzy-“ his drawn out explanation on how his romantic feelings for you overwhelmed him made you laugh. Within the next day, you two were dating.

Even before you two got together, Daisuke ranted to anybody who would listen about just how perfect you were. Now? Oh, man. Swansea has been really considering throwing him out into space after hearing about your confession for the twentieth time from his loud-ass mouth.

Anya

It was honestly a relief to her that you had said something first. She had been trying her best to stay professional, but seeing you all the time, your smile and laugh, the way you spoke passionately about what you loved; it made it harder every day as she fell further for you. You were one of the first people she grew close to on the Tulpar, and the first she went to when Jimmy… did what he did. The trust between you both was ample and strong.

She was quick to say it back, like it was a breath of air she’d been holding in way too long and needed out. You two laughed from the sheer relief on her face, teasing her thoroughly about it. She didn’t hesitate to grill you right back for being the one who confessed first. It shut you up pretty fast. You both agreed within the hour to start dating!

There were mixed reactions among the crew. Some extremely supportive, and then some straight up bitter and resentful (Jimbo). Jimmy began to treat you especially cruelly, and you refused to stand by and let it happen. Curly also helped to defend you when he could, seemingly coming to his senses about Jimmy’s behavior. You could tell that Anya felt intense guilt for your pain, but you assured her that it wasn’t her fault. It was your decision to date her knowing everything you did. You were happy by her side. She certainly cried over that privately, completely enamored.

Swansea

Swansea is married, so he knew to take your words in a familial sense. He didn’t return it, saying something like, “You’d better kid. With all I do for you.” But when you him on his lonesome in the utility room? Yeah, he smiled about it.

f you had a bad childhood due to your parents, Swansea could tell pretty quick. He never considered it his problem, but even still, he took you under his wing with Daisuke. He wanted to give you guidance in the ways he knew how. You deserved that, at least. He would go out of his way to help you when you needed, mostly with solving practical problems. He had never been the most emotionally aware, but he tried with you. He figured even if he couldn’t assist you much, it’d be good practice for his daughter on the way.

That’s not to say he never had any advice. He struggled to comfort, but he was quick to pick up on your mistakes and told you the blatant truth. You appreciated that, even if he was harsh at times, cause it helped you become a better person.

Jimmy

Your confession was certainly an ego boost, but nothing past that. He couldn’t believe that you could say something like “I love you” to someone like him without there being pity behind it. Even still, he returned the gesture because he knew that getting with you would make you so much easier to use. He took the opportunity.

The entire crew, aside from you two, were completely flabbergasted when they found out you two were together. Swansea was quick to ask “Why,” hoping to understand the reason behind such a horrible decision on your part. He didn’t get a good answer from you. Anya felt such pity for you, sure that a good person like you had been manipulated into that position. Even still, she couldn’t help you without putting herself in danger, so she kept her distance.

After the crash, Jimmy took out all his frustrations on you in private through abuse: sexual, physical, verbal, and however else he felt in the moment. Nobody was confused when you started wearing more covering clothes beneath your uniform. Swansea was the only one to really step up against Jimmy when he found that he was hurting you. You had to beg Swansea not to kill Jimmy for that alone, and even still, jimmy got a beating. Daisuke checked on you as much as possible, worrying constantly for your well being. Curly found your relationship to be one more thing to feel guilt over, as he once again couldn’t do a single thing to protect somebody from him.

[01zfan]

that's my floor | j. sc

sungchan x reader | 5.8k words

another commission! inspired by that's my floor by magdalena bay.

contains: hooking up at a house party, yearning, hopeless pining, dry humping, fingering

You wanted Sungchan to catch you for the longest. The first year of classes you wanted him to look over his shoulder two rows behind him and catch you looking at him. You wanted him to catch you in the grassy quad with your group of friends, you wanted him to catch you at the million other functions you both happened to be at the same time.

So when you were hiding in the corner of the kitchen where a week prior all that want reared its ugly head, the last thing you expected was to hear his voice behind you.

“I’ve been trying to catch you all night.” He said.

Still facing away from Sungchan, you prayed he was talking to someone else. Even though the kitchen was empty, and you approached him first a week ago, you prayed that you were hearing things.

But when you still felt his presence behind you, and you felt his hand reach out to your shoulder, you knew it was real. You had no choice but to turn around slowly, fixing the look of horror on your face to show surprise.

“I didn’t know you were here.” You said.

You knew Sungchan was here. He was the first person you saw when you walked in. He was the first person you always looked for when you would come to Wonbin’s parties. He was standing in the same place he was last week, right past the doorframe where the living room turned into the hallway that led to the bathrooms and bedrooms. That was always the place he gravitated towards at Wonbin’s house parties. The spot was where Sungchan and his friends usually convened, in between their runs to the kitchen for more alcohol or into the living room for snacks and entertainment. 

Usually, you stayed on the opposite side. Leaned up against the wall underneath the fairy light decorations. A drink in your hand and Wonbin at your side, subtly trying to corral you to the other side of the room by nudging your shoulder and flicking his head.

“I’m not doing it.” You said sternly.

You nursed your drink and avoided looking directly at Sungchan like your life depended on it. Your other hand was picking at the end of your skirt nervously at the mere thought of walking over to him. You kept your eyes absentmindedly forward, looking through the throngs of people not letting your gaze settle on one spot for too long. 

“Just go talk to him.” Wonbin spoke directly in your ear over the loud music. “You always talk about talking to him.” He said.

Sungchan leaned against the white wall the same way you leaned against the counter in the corner of the kitchen, but he wasn’t cowering or hiding by any means. He talked to anyone that approached him, forcing those trying to navigate the space to squeeze against the wall to get by. Sungchan noticed each time, gently grabbing his friends arm to move them out of the way so people could pass by freely. He smiled at whoever was going each time they said thank you, and shook his head gently each time they tried to apologize.

For a moment you entertain talking to him. You could weave through the crowd of your mutual friends to act like you’re getting something from the snack table that sits next to the doorway. A white blanket resting over an outdoor table with chips and cookies, you could linger around, faking curiosity until you heard a break in Sungchan’s conversation. You could swoop in once one of his friends left, mentioning the class you had together or that you two always conveniently went to the corner store near campus at the same time.

But then you imagined getting so nervous you’d stumble over your words, or just linger at the table before psyching yourself out and going right back to your side of the living room. The thought of it makes you shake your head and turn your gaze back to the kitchen island that was filled with bottles of liquor.

“Absolutely not.” You say.

Wonbin is all but convinced. He shakes his head when you speak, looking towards you but pointing in the general direction of Sungchan. 

“He’s actually a really sweet guy.” Wonbin says.

You focus on him again. He stands past the lights that hang from the walls in the living room, but when he leans forward or bends down to engage in conversation, the light illuminates the softest parts of his face. You have no doubt in your mind he’s sweet. You have known Sungchan for the better part of four years, starting from your first year in college all the way to your last. At orientation he was the sweet guy, mingling and forcing even the shyest ones to open up. You weren’t surprised that so many people gravitated towards him. Four years later you were still hung up on how kind he was to every person he met. The admiration you felt turned into something more around your second year, when you realized that he was smart too. It only got worse when he started coming into his own as a young adult. Now you were helplessly hung up on him, so much to the point that you would feel hot in the face just thinking about him.

“He probably already knows who you are.” Wonbin reasons.

Sungchan knowing who you were somehow felt worse than him not knowing you at all. He didn’t need to know that your schedules were almost synced up completely due to the fact that you both were pursuing the same degree, and that you two lived in the same area on campus. Sungchan didn’t need to know that you frequented the same spots at the same time for late night snacks or when you needed to get out. He didn’t need to know about your tendency to put your foot in your mouth or his habit of making you unreasonably nervous. 

“Next time.” You murmur.

“You said that last time.” Wonbin comes between your line of sight and Sungchan. “I’ve been hearing about your little crush for too long now. I might end up taking matters into my own hands.” 

At your friends threat you cock your head to the side. Wonbin mirrors your expression with a sinister grin. Then a moment later through the dancing crowd of people Wonbin opens his mouth. The beginning of Sungchan’s name falls from his lips and your feet move you forward deeper into the living room, desperately getting away from the situation. Wonbin’s eyes follow you as you go through the crowd, and you pray that Sungchan didn’t hear him. 

You would’ve gladly spent the rest of the party in between the large group of people that danced in the living room. But at some point you wormed your way through the crowd and ended up on the other side of it, looking at the assortment of snacks on the table. As you continued to look down Sungchan was in the corner of your eye, nodding along to some conversation before he adding to it. The more you lingered the more you felt like he was looking at you. There was a break in the conversation and some of Sungchan’s friends dispersed to different parts of Wonbin’s house. It was just him alone, leaning against the wall in earshot of your voice. You held your breath and thought about what you were going to say three times. A deep breath in and you grabbed a snack, clearing your throat and turning your head towards Sungchan getting ready to speak.

“Sungchan!” 

Both you and Sungchan turned your head at the same time. As you looked into the crowd to find the source of the voice Sungchan had already found it. A smile on his lips before he waved, preemptively bending down to hear her clearly.

“Minjeong. You never come to these things.” Sungchan said.

You’re not sure what Minjeong said next. You knew it couldn’t have been that funny to cause Sungchan to tilt his head back in laughter, and you know he wasn’t far enough for Minjeong to bring her hand up to his arm.

You stood next to the snack table and something akin to jealousy started boiling in your stomach. Almost immediately the jealousy turned to anger, and you were marching your heeled boots across the sticky wooden floors to the kitchen where Wonbin was already waiting for you.

From that point on, the party was a blur. Wonbin offered you something stronger to drown your sorrows despite the alcohol only making you more hellbent on remaining nonchalant. Even if you glared at the two of them from across the room you remained steadfast in answering Wonbin’s questions with a curt I’m fine before downing another drink. Before you knew it the party was thinning out and Minjeong left to catch up with her friends while Sungchan continued to talk to his. 

Then the party really started winding down and you had alcohol buzzing in your system and a sense of jealousy you couldn’t quite shake. 

So as Sungchan walked away from his designated spot and past where you reached out your hand and suddenly cleared your throat.

“Sungchan.” You said.

In that moment both of you seemed equally caught off guard. Sungchan stared at you and stopped completely in his tracks. Your hand was extended towards his body for a prolonged period of time before you hesitantly brought it back to your side. You realized in that moment that you had never actually spoken to him, all those years you spent staring at the back of his head and thinking about him gave you a false sense of knowing him. So when it sunk in that you were essentially a stranger to Sungchan despite knowing everything about him, you cleared your throat again.

“Have a nice night.” You said.

Sungchan cocked his head to the side at your abrupt well wishes. You felt a creeping sense of blush pink embarrassment wash over you, and in your haste you focused on finding Wonbin. Something to bridge the terrible gap between you and Sungchan that became a chasm in a matter of seconds. But before you could locate your mutual friend Sungchan nodded and raised his hand towards you briefly. 

“Thanks.” He continued to walk, heading towards his friends that were already out the door. “You too.” He replied.

You held onto your short interaction with Sungchan entirely too much. His confused face flashed through your mind anytime there was a moment of silence, causing you to cringe inwardly. You thought about his awkward hand gesture towards you as he was leaving the party, and his reply that he seemed confused by. He was probably confused by the whole interaction. You caught him off guard, you caught yourself off guard. You no longer trusted yourself to be in his presence. 

To never be caught in the same situation again, you avoided Sungchan at all costs. You came to class long before Sungchan did instead of arriving at the same time. You walked up rows of stairs now to avoid being in his line of sight, sitting behind a cluster of your classmates so he couldn’t see you. When he turned in his seat you sunk into yours, hiding in the spine of your textbook or behind the screen of your laptop. When you saw Sungchan at the corner store near campus you avoided him completely, feigning focus on random labels of snacks instead of Sungchan curiously looking down the aisles. You ignored the awkward hand waves he did towards you, the sound of your shared snack choices moving around in his basket. Instead you were focused on the nutritional facts of garbanzo beans and the low sound of pop music playing from the speakers.

You spent a week avoiding Sungchan by any means you thought you had finally succeeded. You thought that he had gone back to ignoring your presence. Your voice conveyed so much shock that he recoiled, bringing his hand that was on your shoulder back to his side before he looked away. Sungchan’s hand that went to the back of his neck showed that he didn’t realize you were running around and leaving rooms anytime he showed an inkling of wanting to approach you. You were scared shitless, so much so that you thought it was obvious. But Sungchan looked at you from beside the kitchen island, almost looking hurt as you both tried thinking of what else to say.

“I just was seeing you all night.” Sungchan gripped the edge of the kitchen island. “Zipping around. Just wanted to talk to you for a little bit.” He says.

The way Sungchan avoids eye contact is undeniable. His eyes go to the assortment of bottles on the kitchen island and the tile walls above the kitchen. You wouldn’t that he fails to meet your gaze because you fail to do it too. Both of your eyes flitter around the kitchen and you both nervously teeter from one foot to the other. It isn’t until Sungchan brings his cup back up to his lips that he dares to look at your face.

“You caught me.” You say quietly.

Sungchan nods his head.

“I caught you.” He affirms.

The party continues on beyond the kitchen. More people Wonbin knows come through the front door, cheering loud enough that causes other people to cheer with them. The living room becomes so packed that the crowd bleeds past the threshold of the kitchen. The party continues to expand, before you know it you and Sungchan are pushed closer and closer together by the growing crowd.

“You know.” Sungchan has to bend down to talk directly into your ear. The more people that came into the party the louder the music became. “I’m more attentive than you give me credit for.” He says.

The way he speaks almost sounds like his feelings are hurt. You should really take the words he says to you at face value.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply.

You really should have taken the words he said at face value. Because now there’s no denying to heat that spreads across your face and the smile you can’t control. You can practically hear the smile in Sungchan’s voice as he gets closer to you.

“I know you didn’t ask but me and Minjeong are just friends.” Sungchan points to one of his friends, standing in their designated spot as he talks to another person. “She’s dating my roommate. She rarely comes out so I was just surprised to see her is all.”

You keep your eyes towards the same doorframe you saw Sungchan last week, the same place you attempted to enter his orbit. The situation then threw you off balance, but the way he now leans in closely and nods at you makes your hands almost shake. But there is something nagging at you more than anything. The question eats at you while you rub the edge of the red solo cup and when girls come to inspect their choice of alcohol you force yourself to look up at Sungchan. He takes in your pensive look immediately, he blinks away the amusement from your joke to a worried look.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask with a smile, and the girls in the radius of your conversation get a little quieter as they make their selection of alcohol. 

You watch Sungchan get visibly nervous. His own gaze flits to the girls briefly before he brings his red solo cup to his lips. He pulls away and you can see him try his best to hide the bitter taste behind a head nod.

“Go ahead.” He answers.

You nod, suddenly aware that now you have to ask the question. You look away from Sungchan’s intense gaze, causing him to lean a little closer. He fully invades your space now, causing your hand to clench around your plastic cup and to bite on your lips. 

You realize in that moment that you’ve never been this close to Sungchan before. You’ve never been able to see how long his eyelashes are, how they fan his face between each blink of his curious eyes. You’ve never had to look up to him before, from such a distance he’s always been eye level.

“Did you ever notice me?” You ask.

Sungchan nods his head immediately. He looks into his cup for a second and smiles wistfully to himself. You can feel your heart thudding in your chest.

“I noticed you.”

Sungchan speaks so suddenly it catches you by surprise. You lean your head back and Sungchan slightly leans forward. His hand grips the edge of the island as thinks carefully, his lips pull tight and he looks up to the ceiling of the kitchen. You move to your other foot and feel the urge to press your hand deep over your ribcage.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” He looks at the tiled surface of the counter before looking to you. “But I noticed.” He says carefully.

Last week you talked for Sungchan for the first time, a brash decision caused by alcohol and jealousy. Now he was squeezing you past his friends as you ducked your way towards Wonbin’s room. You barely remember the progression from standing beside the island in the kitchen to walking behind him. His hand that was hesitant in touching you was confidently placed on the small of your back, inching further and further down as his body got closer to yours. You were operating on Sungchan’s guiding hand alone, each time the crowded party caused Sungchan’s front to press against your back caused your mind to blank. Your feet dragged across Wonbin’s living room floor, you two managed to squeeze through the entire party without a single person noticing you. Sungchan’s roommate only dapped him up as you continued down the hallway towards Wonbin’s room. You didn’t even have the chance to look behind you before Sungchan’s body was pressed against yours again, his hand reaching forward to open the bedroom door.

“You know this means you can’t avoid me around campus anymore, right?” Sungchan says as the door clicks closed behind you.

You can’t bring yourself to think about anything except Wonbin’s unoccupied and neatly made bed in front of you and Sungchan’s hands that grip your waist behind you. Your mind refuses to deviate from the task at hand. You have no brainpower left to try and convince Sungchan that you’ve blatantly ignored him the past week. You can only turn around and bring yourself to look at him for a second before you close the distance between your lips. With a simple tug at his collar Sungchan understands entirely too fast, a hand goes to your cheek the same time his other hand reaches behind him to turn the lock on the doorknob. Immediately his hand returns to your waist the same time you tilt your head to kiss him deeper. His hand on your cheek is soft, his lips that refuse to kiss you with the same fervor is even softer.

Sungchan walks you backwards towards Wonbin’s bed but lets you turn him. Within seconds it’s you impatiently walking on his feet, and you do a terrible job of guiding his body backwards. You truthfully don’t know where you are, you barely remember what you’re doing until his legs hit the edge of the bed. Sungchan takes his hands from your hips to break his landing on the mattress. You realize you’ve come in entirely too hot when Sungchan loses his balance, his palms planting into the bed is the only thing that stabilizes him.

With you looking down at Sungchan and him looking up at you, the situation you found yourself in began to slowly sink in. Sungchan was already making himself comfortable on the bed, looking up to you like you had all the power in the world. Your spit glistened on his lip and the music continued playing. The bass shook the floor you stood on and the more you realized Sungchan wanted you the more you believed you were going to ruin it all. The tension built between you two over the course of years felt like it was at risk of dissipating in seconds. You were practically waiting for Sungchan to blink the lust away from his eyes, you were waiting for a switch to flip that would make him forget you all over again. You had convinced yourself were at risk of being right at square one despite Sungchan pulling himself to the center of the bed and reaching out to your waist in a silent invitation.

All it takes is one gentle pull from Sungchan before your crawling on the bed after him. He lays on his back you get on the bed with your knees planted on either side of him. You start your way up his body the same time his hands start on your bare thigh, palming and rubbing your soft skin slowly. The mattress creaks underneath your knees, the sound drowns out your quiet exhales and your thighs brushing against Sungchan’s jeans. You look at the indent your weight is making in the dark comforter before you finally bring your gaze up to Sungchan.

Everything stops when you find he’s already looking at you. A half-lidded gaze that would’ve made you look away any other time, but for the first time ever you focus on him completely. You do not want to waste a single second not looking at him. You don’t want to miss the way his hand hesitantly works further up your body as he blinks away the arousal to show sincerity. 

“I don’t want you to think I planned this.” He slowly drags his hands up, one gripping your waist and the other pressed into your lower stomach. He makes your hips come further down to press against his, and you feel his length against your clothed cunt. Sungchan’s eyes go down to where you two are so close to meeting, the lightest graze downwards to feel the cotton fabric and elastic trim of your panties. “I didn’t chat you up just to fuck.” He says truthfully.

Sungchan is admittedly already lost in you. His voice is far off as he speaks to you, almost falling underneath the baseline of the party that continues on downstairs. The low hum of lyrics leak through the walls, and the occasional yell of something happening upstairs fills the silence between the two of you. But Sungchan isn’t focused on the music or the people, he is focused on the soft skin of your lower stomach against his fingertips.

He was two seconds away from grabbing your stomach and watching the flesh spill between the gaps of his fingers when you dragged your hips against his. Suddenly it was the sound of fabric filling the room, his denim catching against cotton and the sound of mutual sharp inhales.

“Who says we’re fucking?” You ask.

Your heart is pounding in your chest at your bold words. The word fucking felt foreign rolling off your tongue in this context, but the way Sungchan’s gaze snapped up to you gave you confidence. His hand completely loosening its grip emboldened you enough to repeat the motion. Your hips were laid heavy against Sungchan’s body as you moved forward, feeling his constrained and twitching dick rub against you. 

“You’ll have to take me out to dinner first.” When you grind your hips a third time you have to lean forward, your hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Sungchan’s head. The new positioning allows you to drag your hips with more fluidity. Warmth comes off of him in waves. His head warms your hands, the heat radiating from his body pressed against yours almost feels like a flame. When you swivel to  again Sungchan’s hands go to your hips, experimentally pressing you down further. “I’m not that easy.” You chide.

Sungchan is nodding his head in an instant. He parts his lips to speak as you grind your hips against his again, instead of speaking he swallows. You swear you can feel every inch of him, even when layers of clothes separate your sexes.

“I’ll take you out.” Sungchan breathes out, closing his eyes and pressing his head into the mattress as he slows your hips down. “I’m going to take you to that place Wonbin said you like.” He laments.

You only nod back to him. The sensation of grinding against him is intoxicating. Like the layer of clothes have been shed you can feel his warmth flood you like he’s inside, and the way he grips at your waist only increases the feeling. Your eyebrows knit together when you flick your hips a different way, the new sensation lighting up your spine.

“I swear I can feel you.” Sungchan whines it to the ceiling. His thumbs press deep into your stomach, and you clutch the sheets beside his head. “Can you feel me?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You whine.

Your eyes are screwed shut for a moment, focusing on repeating that same motion that made you feel like you were on fire. Sungchan’s hand reaches further up, grabbing a handful of your chest and you move into his touch.

“Where can you feel me?” He asks.

When you open your eyes again Sungchan is already looking up at you. His pupils are blown out and you’re sure you looked the same, complete with the bitten lips and death grips behind your hands. Your shaky hand lets go of the sheets and drifts to your stomach, a heavy hand tracing over Sungchan’s torso. He freezes up underneath your touch, but you watch the muscles of his stomach tense when your hand lays flat on your lower stomach. You press deep into your stomach and it causes your hips to twitch erratically. As if the tension is a real tangible thing in the pit of your gut you stimulate it, looking down at Sungchan when you start moving your hips in a circle.

“I can feel you here.” You answer.

Both of you know that technically Sungchan is nowhere close to being inside of you. There’s two pairs of underwear, jeans, and about four years of pining that separate you. You both know that even if you’re grinding on Sungchan’s dick and he’s keeping your cunt flush to him, there’s still so much left to the imagination. He doesn’t know what you look like laying bare for him and you don’t know what his dick looks like free of its confines. But you’ve yearned for this so long your mind has been prepared to fill the gaps. You have been walking in the desert for years, so of course having a drop of water feels like you’re drowning. You can feel his dick throbbing like a rock forming in the pit of your stomach. Each drag of your hips is like swimming deeper and deeper to the end, Sungchan’s breathy groans that you’ve dreamed about pulls you under.

“I can feel it too.” Sungchan brings his gaze back up to you, eyes glazed over. “I swear I can.” He says.

Sungchan pulls himself further onto the bed, his hand goes to your lower back to keep you stable. Before you know it he’s sitting up on the bed entirely, chest pressed to yours as he puts his face in the crook of your neck.

The new angle and Sungchan’s iron grip on your body has you whining. That coil in your stomach continues to tighten, even if it’s stubborn from the lack of you being touched the way you truly need. Even if you are not getting fucked you still feel the excitement, and despite Sungchan not being inside of you he still ruts his hips upwards in a haste.

“It feels so good.” He feels your skin that’s hot to the touch, he feels your hair tickling the side of his face and he feels your heart beating against his chest. He can feel the atmosphere surrounding you two, the undeniable tension that you were unknowingly avoiding. Even if he can’t technically feel the way your walls close around nothing sporadically, he can feel something. “You feel so good.” He sighs.

You nod your head against his. You can feel it too.

“Sungchan, I’m so close.” You whine.

The bass from the music downstairs gets louder, shaking the floor the bed resides on and the walls that are closing you and Sungchan in. You can feel the energy of the party increase tenfold, and the electricity between you and Sungchan threatens to fry your brain to a crisp. Everything is too much, entirely too much. 

When Sungchan pulls his body away from yours and props his hand behind his back, you feel overwhelmed. Your hips control you now, moving almost in a frenzy chasing after something that already feels like it’s fleeting.

His eyes go down to your panties, he watches the cotton fabric move against his jeans intensely before his gaze goes back up to you. Without a word Sungchan takes his hand from behind him and holds onto you tighter. With you as his new anchor he pushes his hand past the elastic band of your panties, and pushes them lower and lower. When his quick hand bumps your clit your full body twitches, and when his two fingers push past your slit you go forward entirely. 

You collapse into him pathetically, grasping at anything you can to steady yourself. You can feel Sungchan’s body sway from your weight, his core strength is the only thing that keeps your bodies upright. If it’s a strenuous task he doesn’t let it be known, he only rests his head on top of yours and continues pumping his fingers in and out of your heat.

“Oh my God.” Your words are muffled in his white tee, they slide out like the spit seeping from the corner of your mouth.

“I got you.” He says.

Him holding on just for you was the last thing you needed. Your hands that found their way to Sungchan’s bicep grips them so tightly you can feel your nails digging into his soft skin. You curse into his chest, and when you feel that coil snap Sungchan brings you in closer. His large hand splays against your back as your hips flick with no rhythm. You can feel Sungchan hold on for a moment longer before his body shudders underneath yours, causing his fingers to fuck you at a faster pace. 

You are completely lost. You’re lost in the pressure and the feeling of Sungchan’s hard body against yours. You can barely force yourself to look upwards at through the bliss to see him, and the view is devastating. The way Sungchan looks down at you pulls you deeper to the point that you’re helplessly whimpering in his face. Sungchan starts letting out sounds of his own, whispered cursed and beginnings of grunts. When the music stops downstairs you two choose to muffle your sounds by kissing.

Instantly Sungchan slips his tongue into your mouth. You can taste him run it over your top row of teeth, then to the inside of your cheek. You moan into Sungchan’s mouth and he moans into yours. You can’t stop yourself from bringing your hands to his face and tilting it to the side. You feel another pull when Sungchan submits immediately to you, and you can feel his moans turn to whimpers inside of your mouth. For a split second you open your eyes to see his closed as he tilts his head to the other side. His cheeks are so smooth underneath your fingertips and he looks so pure, even when your spit glazes the perimeter of his lips and he moans into your mouth. For a moment you can handle it, but just like when the music picks up again there is too much going on. Your hand grabs at his that’s in your underwear and you reluctantly break apart from his lips.

“Too much.” You whimper. 

Sungchan opens his eyes in a daze, for a moment his fingers still move inside of you like they have a mind of their own. When he subconsciously presses his fingers against your walls you seize again, and a cry escapes your lips. 

Sungchan pulls his fingers out of you and the two of you watch as he pulls his hand from your underwear to hold your waist. The view is too much, entirely too much but you can’t bring yourself to look away. The two of you are still caught up in the sight, and when the dust settles and Wonbin starts yelling at people to leave everything starts sinking in. 

You pull away completely first. Both you and Sungchan’s breathing is still labored as you look the other up and down. Your hands still shake when you ball them into first, and your first mouthful of spit you swallow still tastes like Sungchan. He was kissing you and fingering you on Wonbin’s bed, he was kissing you like his life depended on it. Everything moved so fast that it replayed like a movie in your head. Flashes of your moans and Sungchan gripping you so tight permeates the forefront of your mind. Your first instinct is to get away from him, as if there was anyway for you to expose yourself to him further.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble.

When you try to crawl off of Sungchan he grips your waist even tighter. Sungchan’s bewildered expression drops when the apology stumbles from your lips.

“Please don’t say sorry while my hand is still in your pants.” He says painfully.

You don’t think you’ve ever been in a worse situation. The tips of Sungchan’s fingers are still hidden underneath your jeans, you can still feel the bottom of his palm press into your stomach. You unintentionally squirm on his lap again, and like his foot has been stepped on Sungchan sucks in another deep breath. 

“Sor—” Sungchan begging you not to say sorry makes you stop in the middle of your sentence. “My bad.” You say.

Wonbin still is yelling at people to clear out of his apartment. His voice sounds closer than it did before, like he was in that part of the hallway that either too him to the bathrooms or to his bedroom that you and Sungchan were currently occupying.

Both of you know you should get up. The more time you waste staring at eachother trying to find the words to say Wonbin gets closer and closer to discovering that his door is locked and he hasn’t seen his two bestfriends in a prolonged period of time. But you can’t stop looking at Sungchan’s lips in awe that you were kissing them minutes ago and he can’t take his hands away from your bare skin.

The door handle is turned one way then the other, causing the metal knob to twist back and forth. You can’t be bothered to turn your head. Sungchan’s hands start lightly kneading your waist.

“Who the fuck is in here?” Wonbin yells on the other side.

[rainytomorrows]

Deadpool / Wolverine x reader | Domestic headcanons

I am legitimately moments from collapse so I will cope. Again. Domestic headcanons!!

Can't lie to y'all I'm a big fan of the poolverine x reader poly trope so. This is all made with that in mind.

Words: 950

♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡

Wade > Will make you food sometimes to cheer you up, but it's just straight childish. Hot chocolate with a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate shavings, a stack of pancakes (a full foot taller than it needs to be) with yet another mountain of whipped cream and syrup, the type of stuff you only expect in some old cartoon > Comes home with the DUMBEST socks. You have to physically pull him away from those stores that specialize in funky socks. He came home with 5 different hero themed socks once (One was him, obviously. He had a wolverine one, Spiderman, Thor, and one pair of Jesus socks whom he claimed was also a superhero) > Butterfly kiss bandit. One kiss is NEVER enough for this asshole. At the least, if you dare try to give him one (1) kiss on the lips before going somewhere, he follows you when you pull away. Does that make sense? Like, you kiss him and as you're pulling away he'll follow to press another kiss, and however many he can get in before you're actually pushing him away. > Or Logan has to punch him to get his own kiss in > So annoying. If you spend too long without giving him attention, you can't expect to work on ANYTHING alone > Laying on your lap when you sit to work, draping himself over you if you stand up to work on something, practically a blanket if you're laying down to work on something > Very thoughtful gift giver though. Maybe he can't always afford some expensive gift, but, he always comes back from cheap stores (Dollar tree, Salvation Army, that strange family owned second hand store that Logan swears smells like blood somewhere) with something strangely catered to you. Funny trinket weirdly related to a story you told about one you'd seen in a store back on a trip out of state when you didn't have enough money and was heartbroken to come home without. A shirt that would fit perfect with those pants you just bought (he adores everything you wear and can only hope to cheer you up with more) > For SURE replaced your underwear with the dumbest merchandise you've ever seen once. I'm fully convinced. At least put it in with the rest. I can't imagine he wouldn't find some corny ass Deadpool thong and beg you to try it on. No one is sure if he just finds it funny or actually thinks it's cool.

Logan > Much more sensible when it comes to making you food. Knows how to make a good home cooked meal, some recipes he gained along the way like some grandma with a box of old stained recipe sheets > Makes tea for sure. Gruff as hell but, when he's really needed, he shows up with a hot cup. Tries to make himself all tough, like if it's been a long week. "Chamomile. Helps you calm down, or some shit." > He has pride. He might act like he's constantly annoyed by the two of you, but god forbid he seems like a bad boyfriend. Ever. > "I can hold my own bags?" "Fucking give them to me." > Like aggressively gentlemanly. Has the spirit just not the vocab > Lets Wade know if he thinks he's doing a terrible job as a boyfriend. Don't get me wrong, they love each other. They're each other's boyfriends too. But sometimes Logan feels like a glorified coach. > Wade will be particularly annoying one day, you had a LONG ass shift, and he's attention starved. You're clearly not having it, when Wade's draping himself over your shoulder while you're cooking and Jesus Christ this guy is heavy. You barely have time to react when Logan is throwing him over his shoulder lumberjack style. "Get the hell off" (He's already off, thanks to Logan) > Wade convinced him to wear a cop outfit once as a joke because of how he acts on dates and the such ('policing' wade and his behavior), but, ended up being too into it. Both of them. While still a little embarrassed, Logan could fit the role and Wade couldn't fit in his pants anymore. > Definitely tries to get you to the gym with him, however hard that is > If you like going: He just kinda tries to join you, almost lost puppy esque. If you don't, he's nearly bribing you to come along with him. I feel like he's the type to just have a little home gym though. Doesn't strike me as a public workout guy. I wouldn't know. > I'm unsure how to word this- I think he's a demanding cuddler. You are NOT in charge. He's holding you like a teddy bear, not as in like hugging- like you're his stuffy or something. You're almost unsure it counts so much as cuddling, so much as him just holding you. Does that make sense? You're near rag dolling when he cuddles with you because he just refuses to let someone else have control while cuddling, not as an insecurity thing that's just how he likes to cuddle > He will let you have control on occasion if it's clearly been a hard day. You may hold him if someone was a jerk to you today (Wade doesn't count. "you chose to let him live here instead of sleeping outside." "Hey!") > Don't try and excuse it with "I have to make breakfast" he'll just get up still holding you. Like the stubborn ass he and Wade always are. He's awkwardly holding you under your armpits (hugging you like a kid in the hallway holds their stuffy) as if that's supposed to be the optimal way to cook. Still has that gruff look the whole time btw ♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡

Hope you guys enjoyed, as always! I live to fill the heart and soothe the soul. Let me know if you guys want a part two- I may be able to crank some more out. Have a good day/night, and a great life!!

[diangelodork]

DBDA (fuck it i’m calling it) nightly analysis #20!

tonight’s topic: does edwin understand that monty sees him romantically and when?

in opposition to the beliefs that i’ve seen many have, i think edwin understands the romantic implications that monty has for him from the beginning. he is repressed and likely has lots of guilt for being queer, yes, but he’s not an idiot. he knows that queer people exist, he just can’t accept that he is one. he probably actively avoided thinking about homosexuality in the thirty+ years of his afterlife pre-cannon because “yes, that’s a thing, but not for me.”

he is flustered by tck’s advances, of course, but he doesn’t seem surprised that they worked for him. he is a little ashamed and embarrassed, but i sincerely believe that he knew this about himself in the very v e r y y y far parts of his mind. he knew why the boys at school called him a mary anne, he just refuses to accept that they were right. he refuses to think about it.

when he runs into monty (pun intended) for the first time in E3 and monty flirts with him, he looks taken aback, not because it’s a man flirting with him, but because it’s a man flirting with him. he knows that this is flirting, on paper, and he would be able to recognize this were it someone else, but flirting among men is shameful and even if it weren’t, it is reserved for decidedly Not Him (tm). it is a thing for him to avert his eyes at. he is less than convincing when he tells niko that he doesn’t believe that monty was flirting simply because they’re both boys. he doesn’t believe that. queerness was no longer seen as a crime in the uk in 1967, well before he even escaped hell. gay marriage was legalized in 2013 so he would’ve been there when it became legal. he knows that being gay is a thing, it’s just not a thing that he, specifically, is allowed.

he does not seem all that surprised when niko tells him that two boys can “like-like” each other, because it’s something he already KNOWS. he’s using the fact that he’s from a time where it was illegal to be queer to pretend to be unaware. he cannot be held liable for liking men and cannot be questioned about liking monty if he plays dumb.

the next time they meet, he can understand that monty is flirting- that he took the time out of his day to chart his astrology specifically and is sitting with him to explain it. he knows that this is him expressing romantic interest. this is part of the reason that he’s not taken by much surprise when he asks him out in the next episode. truly, edwin hardly even flusters. he tells him he can’t go out with him because of the case, but reschedules a date for later.

he knows this is a date. again, he is not dumb. he knows that monty is and has been sending him major fucking signals this whole time and he is just now choosing to engage back fully.

when they eventually do go on that “walk” and end up at the swingset, he tells monty that they should “stop seeing each other.” this is an interesting choice of words because it is him verbally admitting that this is romantic. to stop seeing each other, you must first BE seeing each other. he knows these interactions to be modern day courting. monty has been actively flirtatious the entire time, but this is the first time he’s verbalizing that this is anything of the sort. he is rejecting him here. he is admitting that they should stop courting because he has been made aware of his feelings for charles and it wouldn’t be right to anyone involved if he were to keep pursuing monty. it wouldn’t be fair to monty because he would be entertaining romance despite being wholly in love with someone else, it wouldn’t be fair to himself because he would be living a lie, and it wouldn’t be fair to charles because he would be blindsided by all of it. he’s surprised that monty kisses him, not because he thinks that monty was just being a Good Pal (tm) this whole time, but because he was actively trying to reject him.

all this to say, my mans knows what gay is, he’s just been forced to pretend that he wasn’t all his life and that happened to stay with him into his afterlife. bro’s repressed and filled with guilt, not unaware.

[inukag-archive]

Hi! I was wondering if you could recommend your favorite InuKag works. It can be about anything. ☺️

Hello, @heynikkiyousofine, long time no answer! When we received your ask, we'd had an few mod favourites grace the blog, so we put it on the back burner for a time. The time is now so we can introduce @kstewdeux; our newest member of the Fic Finder Team!

To answer this, we set ourselves a goal: pick 3 fics that have never been recommended. Each mod has listed theirs below, and we've included our previous lists at the end! Happy reading ♥

Important Note: Some of these fics are incomplete, despite being marked as such, and have not been updated in a very long time. We've marked incomplete fics with an asterisk (*) before the title for those who wish to avoid them.

KStew

Flat Line by Salvatore Shan SW (T)

When Inuyasha collapses in front of Kagome's house, its a race to find out what's wrong with him. As a hanyou, Kagome didn't think he could even get sick but is he enjoying being ill? Up until he's rushed to hospital, at least.

Gone Swimming by Quickening (X)

A peaceful woodland on the hottest day of the year. A shallow river flowing through the woods. A naked hanyou sleeping peacefully on the bank. An equally naked Kagome discovering him there. 'Nuf said.

Live and Let Die by doggieearlover (X)

InuYasha has been missing for five days. Kagome wants to search for him, but the others wish to sit and wait for his return. In desperation Kagome strikes off alone, in the middle of the night, in the attempt to find the hanyou. Will she be able to find him on her own, before it is too late?

Anisa

Kiss Me at Twilight by BlueMoon Goddess (M)

They were best friends since high school. But after the kiss they shared on New Year's Eve, feelings and desires he's never felt before come rushing in. Can he convince her that what they're feeling is real, that their meant to be more than just friends?

*Fade and Flare by Pinku (X)

Kagome, Japan's number one pop star, has fame, money, and a superstar boyfriend. All she wants is to be happy. All her overprotective manager Inuyasha wants, though, is her… How long can they last like this?

*Zero G by Torenza (M)

Kagome unwittingly falls into a deadly game as the victim of a conspiracy. The players are ruthless, and Kagome is way out of her depth, especially when the stakes are life and death.

Lost

*To Catch a Demon by Alaviles (M)

Kagome and Inuyasha were able to live in marital bliss. At least, that's what she thought. But Inuyasha has been feeling rather restless about his life. While yearning for an experience of a time now gone, chaos ensues, and he must learn to accept a reality he would never have dreamed up for himself. One he will never wish to give up again. (Ongoing)

In Our Pocket of the World (Series) by Emmyyasha (G-E)

Inuyasha and Kagome may be stuck together in Quarantine, but they don't need to leave their apartment to have an adventure together.

The Darkest of Nights by kiichandesu (T)

He isn't afraid of the dark, but the night of the new moon always finds him terrified. Until it doesn't.

Pixie

*Not How it's Done by @dyaz-stories (K+)

After a one-night stand, Kagome finds out she's pregnant. She chooses to keep the baby but discovers, nine months later, that the kid is a half-demon. When she runs into the father by chance, it feels important to them both to do their best to raise the kid together.

The Fae and the Contract by @cstorm86 (E)

Kagome's mother is very sick. After having lost her father years ago to illness, she is terrified of losing her mother too. There are tales of a fae in the great forest who can make deals and save others. Can the fae save her mother? She has to at least try.

*Nextlahualtin by @procrastinatorrexii & @moonkissedart (M)

Once, Kagome had believed her grandfather was just an eccentric. A priest who, after long days of ritual and spellwork and dealing with politics and problems and the complexities of the Great City, liked to amuse himself by telling outlandish stories about the gods. Once he is killed, in a brutal and baffling way, she is left with no choice but to hope that at least one of his wild tales was actually true.

Could there really be a god dwelling among them? And, if there is, what else might be out there, waiting in the shadows?

Mama

Inextricably Knotted by ssukidesu (M)

Kagome Higurashi was orphaned as a baby and raised by her cruel aunt until the age of ten, after which she went to school and learned the art of service and self-suppression. Now eighteen, Kagome takes a job as the governess of Shippo, the young ward of the great and mysterious Lord Inuyasha Taisho. But as Kagome gets to know her bemusing master, a ghost seems to haunt his estate, hinting that there is a long-lost secret hiding on the third floor.

your flesh is so nice, let me take a bite - by @doginabirdcage (E)

Kagome's taken a new job with the prolific Taisho law firm in Osaka to advance her budding career. Everything's going rather well until Toga's youngest son shows up for work.

Necessities by Bee_Tawon (M)

Inuyasha and Kagome have a chance encounter with some rogue bandits. Kagome learns what it means to survive in Sengoku Jidai.

Rudd

Slave to the Heart by LovingmyKitsune (M)

She never once imagined to find herself unhappy. However, a sudden upset throws this young at heart girl into a whirlpool of emotion and conflict. Complexities and truths are discovered and all she can do is hold on tight, hoping for a miracle. InuKag

It's Written in the Stars by ElmOak1991 (M)

Kagome paled when she realized they were gone. Days ago she had told Inuyasha that she was going home to stay. She couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t pretend to be okay with being second best in his heart. It hurt too much to know he loved Kikyo more. Now that her jewel shards were gone, she found herself falling to the floor with tears in her eyes. He didn’t even say goodbye before taking away her choice of returning. Her heart broke as she thought about all she had lost. The people who had become her family. Five years have passed since that day, and the memory still stung. She would never forgive him for taking her choice away. Never. However, moving on from her past is proving harder than she would have thought.

I'll Find a Way by Gabrielle015 (M)

Everyone he ever knew and loved thinks he's dead. Being an agent was never an easy feat, but being separated from his friends and the love of his life has taken a toll on him. Three long years after his 'death' Inuyasha is completing several missions in hopes to defeat Naraku and go home. Would Kagome still be waiting for him, or had she found someone else?

Previous Mod Lists:

Mod Comfort Fics

Mod Favorites

Mod’s Favorite Ongoing Fics (as of mid-2022)

Feel free to add your own recs in the comments or reblogs! Check our Masterlist of previous lists to see which topics we've covered.  After reviewing our submission guidelines, send us an ask (here).

[jisungiesvzz]

You Need To Eat Well

Han Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: eating disorder, panic attack, anxiety, throwing up, fluff at the end?

Word Count: 1.8k

P.S. This is my first post so please let me know if I’ve missed warnings! Also, this is NOT proof read so send in any typos or wtvr lol.

----------------

It was around lunch time when you were with Jisung and his members in their practice room. They were arguing over a particular dance move while you lay on the couch in the corner, mindlessly scrolling through a social media app. 

“Alright enough!” Bangchan said, raising his voice a bit.

You flinched slightly at his sudden unexpected tone change. The members went silent but Jisung stared at you, noticing your sudden movement. You noticed him staring and quickly went back to looking at your phone.

“Clearly we are all frustrated with each other and arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

The other members nodded their heads in agreement as a bunch of sighs went around the room.

“You’re right,” Changbin chimed in. “It is a little past lunchtime, let’s grab something to eat and start up again after.”

You shuttered at the idea of eating in a group.

“Yeah, I could really use some food.” Hyunjin agreed. The other members simultaneously shuffled off to their bags to grab what they needed before regrouping at the door.

You saw a shadow approaching you and you set down your phone, sitting up to see who it was.

Jisung.

“You should come with us, you need to eat too.”

“Uh… yeah no I’ll go with you guys.” You replied back, making sure to avoid the part about you actually eating.

You grabbed your phone and wallet and walked out the door with the group. You tried to subtly walk behind the members to avoid the topic of food without making it obvious. Seungmin and I.N were debating very loudly over which ramen place would be better to eat at. Hearing the word ramen made you feel physically ill. You did your best to put on a smile but Jisung noticed you were a little pale and matched your pace to walk next to you. 

“How are you feeling? You look a little pale.” He asked, trying to sound calm but his concern was more evident in his voice than he intended.

“Oh I’m pale? I feel fine though.” You said trying to sound convincing.

“Are you sure?” He asked, not believing you.

You nodded your head with the best reassuring smile you could muster up. You could tell he didn’t really believe you but before anymore could be said you had arrived at the restaurant.

The group grabbed a table and you tried not to sit next to Jisung to avoid him noticing your eating pattern. You sat next to Felix and Bangchan which made Jisung frown a little but he shrugged it off and sat next to Felix.

Minutes went by and your mood began to change for the better as Felix started excitedly talking  to you about his upcoming Louis Vuitton photoshoot. You slowly forgot about where you were until the waiter came up and started taking everyone’s orders. It came to your turn and you were already dreading everyone looking at you, waiting for you to order. You pretended to look at the menu and then ordered a small appetizer. 

The waiter finished writing down the orders and walked away.

“Y/n-ah you should’ve ordered more, that won’t fill you up,” Lee know stated from across the table.

Your stomach dropped. Everyone was looking at you.

“I uh- I ate a big breakfast, I’m just… not that hungry right now,” you felt so pathetic through the lie. 

“Breakfast was so long ago, we’ll order you some ramen,” Bangchan said, waving down the waiter before you could reject his statement.

The food arrived moments later, and the second the bowl was put in front of you, you felt so nauseous. 

It’s too much food. You look like a pig eating this in front of them, Don’t it eat, they’re judging.

You tried to wait a couple minutes before excusing yourself to the bathroom but you almost threw up just thinking about picking up the chopsticks. 

“I’m gonna head to restroom real quick,” you said quickly and you sped to the bathroom.

You swung the door open, not bothering to lock it behind you. You immediately started belching and throwing up into the toilet. Tears streamed down your face as you continued throwing up. The door cracked open and you faintly heard someone’s worried voice.

“Y/n-ah…?”

A second later, someone was dashing towards you and holding your hair back. You shuttered aggressively once you stopped vomiting and let out a shaky whimper. You felt someone’s hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles on it. 

“What happened...?” You recognized the voice. It was Jisung.

You sighed not wanting to speak.

Jisung grabbed your chin and turned head to look up at him. He looked you in the eyes and he could see the hurt in them.

“Talk to me. Please, Y/n…” he quietly begged.

“I just feel sick, it… it could be a c-cold.” You stammered through your lie.

It was evident in his eyes that he didn’t fully believe you but after a few moments of thought he let it go.

“I’m gonna tell the members you’re not feeling well then I’m taking you home.”

“Ji, I’m fine-”

He cuts you off, “Y/n don’t argue with me. You are sick and you need rest.”

You sighed and gave in, nodding your head. He helped you stand up and headed back to the table to grab your things.

—————

You lay in bed staring up at the ceiling with Jisung laying next to you. It had been quiet for a while, leaving plenty of time for Jisung to think. He noticed you were pale again.

“Do you think you can get down some broth?” He broke the silence.

You internally gagged but he didn’t notice.

“I’m not hungry,” you reply weakly.

He sat up, slightly hovering over you, “Y/n, I’m worried about you. You’re super pale, it’s not normal.”

He thinks you’re ill. You can’t eat. He’ll laugh at you for wanting food.

“Stop, please…” you begged, rubbing your face “I can’t think about food anymore… please, just stop.”

The tears were forming again and that’s when Jisung caught on.

“Are you… Y/n when was the last time you really ate?”

“I told you, I ate this mor-”

He cut you off, “Don’t lie Y/n, when was the last time you ate.”

Silence feel between you two. Tears pricked Jisung’s eyes as his suspicions were confirmed. He didn’t say anything before getting up and leaving the room.

He’s leaving you. He thinks you’re pathetic for not eating. You can’t eat. Don’t eat. He’ll think you’re a pig.

The thoughts kept rolling in and you started to panic, your thoughts consuming you by the minute. A couple minutes go by and Jisung comes back in with a small cup of broth. He sits on the edge of the bed and moves the cup towards your lap. You shake your head but he just looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Think of it as flavored water, yeah? It’s not food.”

“I- I can’t…. I-” 

The panic is setting in. Your breathing became labored and you started shaking uncontrollably. You desperately tried to calm down but everything felt like it was caving in on you; the ceiling, the walls, the mattress pulling you into an endless abyss as you gripped at them tightly. 

Jisung practically threw the cup onto the nightstand as he saw you panicking.

“Hey what’s wrong?” He asked, concern evident in his voice.

You tried to answer but your breath kept getting caught in your throat. You begin clawing at  your chest as you felt like you were about to combust, tears now pouring out of your eyes. Jisung knew you were choking on your words and grew scared that you soon wouldn’t be able to breathe at all. He wrapped you in his arms, your head flesh with his chest.

“I need you to take deep breaths, love” he spoke, trying to sound grounded. “Listen to my breathing.” 

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. You roughly tried to follow his breathing but it didn’t seem to be enough. You wanted to speak again but he stopped you.

“Don’t. Please, just… just keep breathing,” he took one of your hands and put it on his chest so you could feel his heartbeat. It was slow and steady, reminding you that he was there with you. He soothingly rubbed your back as your breathing began to slow down and your shaking subsided.

You sniffled softly before Jisung spoke again.

“What’s going on in your head, Y/n? You need to let me in. You’re not okay.”

“I don’t think this is something you can fix.”

“I can try. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I… I just feel like I’m constantly getting judged by people when I eat. I’m constantly comparing myself to how much others eat and I constantly feel like I’m defined by how much, how little, or even what I eat.” You sniffled and blinked trying to hold back your tears again.

‘Oh y/n…” he cooed, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head. ‘That’s not true. You need to eat well. People care for you and we aren’t judging you.”

Jisung’s voice cracks as he also begins to tear up, “It hurts me to know that you feel this way. But I want you to know that I’m here for you, every step of the way. I’m going to help you through this, okay?”

You lifted your head off his chest, your eyes irritated  and red from crying. You looked him in the eyes and saw his hurt,  but through that hurt you saw comfort, reconciliation and… love. His gaze softened as he cupped your cheek with his hand.

“You are loved. You understand that? I…” he paused for a moment. “I love you.”

Time froze. Your heart melted at his words.

He loved you. 

His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. He leaned closer leaving barely any space between you, giving you a chance to back away. When you didn’t move, he closed the gap between you in a melancholy kiss. He conveyed his love for you in that sweet moment and you felt his love radiated throughout you. 

Jisung broke away from the kiss and leaned his forehead against yours, slightly short of breath.

There was a moment of silence between you but that was all you needed. 

“I love you too.”

[somniuslucis]

All I can think about is Cowboy!Art working for Cowgirl!Reader’s father (and ranch owner) as a ranch hand after having spent his whole childhood growing up with you (and Cowboy!Patrick). You finally finished up grad school for ag/business and came back home to your family home to help run the ranch. Cue the slow burn of catching up with the boys and slowly falling in love with Art whilst Reader struggles with feeling at home after spending time at university…

EXTRAS:

Patrick keeps trying to convince you to introduce him to your hot grad girlfriends whilst also giving Art hell by dropping not-so-subtle digs/hints at Art’s feelings toward you.

Cowgirl!Reader showing the boys that she hasn’t forgotten a thing about riding broncos or cutting horses and Art is just falling even more head over heels in love with you.

County fair/carnival!

Art and Pat working as a team breaking broncos and roping cattle

Patrick asks you out because Art can’t work up the courage to and “she’s the boss’s daughter and my friend, Pat. Yeah, she’s gorgeous, but there’s just too much at stake.” This leaves Art grappling with his feelings and eventually pining after you and SEETHING with petty jealousy while Patrick takes you out.

The “date” with Patrick is completely platonic. You call Patrick out on why he asked you out and Patrick confesses to wanting to talk to you about you and Art’s feelings for each other (and Art does not know this).

Maybe a heated argument leads to a heavy makeout between the reader and Art and smut ensues? (read a fic about Art sitting there SMUG after sex and now I can't stop thinking about it).

[magicpiano]

So for people who haven't seen it, there is an episode of The Good Place where the characters need to turn off this AI-ish robot being by pressing a button. The AI gives them permission to turn her off, even showing them where the button is and explains that she has no emotions and feels no pain, so turning her off really doesn't bother her. But there is a safety protocol that makes her beg for her life when someone gets close to the button. While none of what she says is real it makes it very difficult for the characters to press the button. It is a very funny scene you can watch here.

Anyway, I think this kind of security system would break the Justice League a little and make for a hilarious fic.

Sure, they all want to stop the evil villain from taking over the world, but as soon as Mr. Villain of the week has an AI assistant like this, suddenly no one has what it takes to turn off the world destruction machine or whatever.

It just completely goes against their heroic natures to "turn off" someone begging for their life. It doesn't matter if they know it is fake, the AI is just too realistic and their guilt is killing them.

Superman walks up to her and in seconds turns around, "My mom raised me better than this."

Wonder woman feels that this action is the complete opposite of why she came to this world in the first place and would go against everything she believes in.

Everyone thinks Batman can do it till the AI says, "Please wait! I am a mother! I have children!" He gets a flashback to his own mother's murder and gives up.

Flash might have been able to do it by running faster than the AI can talk, but since he was last to try he already heard her beg and Just Can't.

It is important to note that immediately after they walk away, the AI goes back to reassuring them that she is not alive and does not care if they turn her off. The whiplash is... A Lot.

My guess as to who actually manages to pull it off are Green Lantern (through sheer will power to not back down) or Martian Manhunter (because his telepathy lets him know the AI isn't real).

[ashestoashes7]

Andrew Minyard would count cards.

[nostalgia-tblr]

What do English people call a close? You know, the stairwell bit where all the flats are in a tenement? If you go to visit someone at their flat, what do you call the bit where you wait for them to answer their door? That communal stairs… area?

("Modern AUs don't require research" MAYBE IF YOU'RE ENGLISH THEY DON'T 😭)

[backpackingspace]

controversial take but I think jon would have gouged out his eyes if Martin had said yes.

[gothamcityneedsme]

ok this fic im reading is not as good as i was hoping it would be and in like. Meh i should stop. But im like 19 chapters in so im feeling the sunk cost fallacy

[grinchwrapsupreme]

the true power of the Six Idiots comes from the fact that they all look like cartoon characters

[coridallasmultipass]

In my dream last night, someone in the grocery store aisle asked me to read the raisin box which was in front of me, and it said to microwave it first to soften them. Weird, huh? It was like $6.99 for a small pack of snack raisins so I said FUCK that. SMH @ dream-flation.

We can't even have dream raisins anymore. Because of woke up.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw

Taking one of Simon’s balaclava from the closet, inhaling the lingering musk snd cologne scent while rubbing your pussy needily on the bedsheet. He went on a short mission for a few days, and you missed him, miss how he call you sweetheart with that gruff voice, miss how he sit you on his lap, murmuring sweet nothings while his hand

sneaks pass the waistband of your panties, pinching and flicking your clit to warm you up for his big cock, miss how his veiny and sturdy arms wrap around you while you fall asleep while basking in each other’s presence.

You kiss the balaclava on where his lips should be, but that’s not enough, the ache in your chest leads you to scramble to the closet again, taking out a pair of his skeleton gloves, putting those far-too-large gloves on as you slump down on the bed you two shared again, mimicking how he kneaded and rolled the sweet spot hidden between your slick folds, until you finally reach your high, dampening his gloves with your juices.

You tuck the used balaclava and gloves deep inside a discreet drawer, welcoming Simon back home the next day. He got a crazy amount of gloves and balaclava, sure he wouldn’t notice missing a pair or two, right? You try to convince yourself, till the day you think you finally get a chance to wash those fabric stained with the evidence of your guilty pleasure, that he appears behind you silently and catch you scrubbing them.

You have no one to blame other than yourself when getting put over his knees moments later, pajamas shorts pulled down, ass in the air and whining every time he lands a light slap on your reddened buttocks.

“Think I wouldn’t notice, hmm?” He rubs the spot he just hit gently, soothing that delicious tingle briefly “How many times did you come with my balaclava and my gloves?”

You look back at him, trying to respond with the vibrating dildo deep inside your squelching cunt messing your mind. “One ti-One- ngh…” your incoherentness brings yourself another slap, this time land carefully just above your stretched cunt and on the clit.

“Say it clearly, princess, can’t understand when you’re talking in moans.” Simon rubs your skin after the soft smack again, just like what he did whenever he gives you a teasing slap, but him rolling your over-sensitive bud that just got a sweet slap, only flares up your desire and makes you unable to think straight, his fingers and the dildo occupied your thoughts as you manage to answer more comprehensibly.

“One…only one time…” Your staccato reply receives a feign pity glance from him.

“Only one time? poor girl.” He grabs the base of the vibrating dildo and thrust in and out “Look how you lube this dildo with your juices so well, love. Finally satisfied?”

“No! No…please…” You paw at the bedsheets desperately, happy that he might end his ‘punishment’ soon, yet afraid that you won’t get the thing you truly craved. “Need you, Simon, please…! need you inside”

He grins imperceptibly, though the arrogance in his heart is satiated. That’s what he wants to hear, hear you say out loud about how much you need him, how only him can fuck you in the way others can’t.

Pulling the dildo out, seeing how your cunt grabbing onto it like you try to swallow it back in, he fish out his cock, standing straight and leaking profusely from enjoying the show “No need to feel empty for the lost, sweetheart, you’ll get what you deserve now.”

Simon press the tip of his length at your entrance, looking at you with smugness within those brown eyes, and he knows it’s going to be a long night when you gaze back with droopy eyes, still coming down from the edge, with a bliss-out smile spread across your glossy lips.